The Quarry ll

405 emerged from the Widow's Path without looking back.

The last of the black trees slipped behind him, their branches disappearing into the dimness beneath the three suns. The road continued east for a short distance before the terrain dropped away, revealing a sprawling rock quarry carved into the hills. Layers of exposed stone formed enormous terraces along its walls, and narrow tracks zigzagged down toward the excavation floor. Rusted machinery sat abandoned between heaps of rubble. A crane towered over the site, its long arm frozen in place, while an empty ore cart rested crookedly on a set of rails.

405 stopped at the edge.
He'd expected another stretch of road. Instead, the quarry opened beneath him like a wound in the earth.
The excavation was old. Weather had softened the edges of the terraces, and weeds had begun growing between the cracks in the stone. A few wooden supports leaned against the lower walls, their surfaces bleached by sunlight. There were no workers, no vehicles, and no signs that anyone had used the site recently. The only visible route crossed the quarry floor before climbing toward a road on the opposite side.
405 tilted his head.
Rocspirit lay beyond the quarry. He'd already calculated the shortest route through it, accounting for the elevation changes and the condition of the paths. Walking around the excavation would add unnecessary distance. Crossing the middle was faster.
He descended.
His feet clicked against the uneven stone as he followed a narrow track between two terraces. Small pebbles rolled away whenever he stepped too close to the edge. Far above, the three suns cast sharp shadows across the quarry walls, leaving the lower sections in bands of darkness. The air smelled of dust and old machinery.
405 continued down.
He didn't need to breathe, but he occasionally imitated the rhythm of human breathing when he was around other people. Kaguya had once told him that his habit of standing perfectly still made him look more like a discarded object than a person. He'd never found the distinction particularly useful, but he remembered the instruction.
Walk naturally.
Look around occasionally.
Don't stare at people for too long.
He glanced toward the empty crane.
Then toward the ore cart.
Then at the opposite side of the quarry.
There was no one there.
He continued walking.
The path narrowed between two enormous piles of broken rock. A rusted shovel lay half-buried in the dirt, and the remains of a wooden fence stretched along the edge of a drop. 405 stepped over a fallen beam and reached the quarry floor, where the stone had been ground into a mixture of pale dust and coarse gravel.
Something felt wrong.
He stopped.
The sensation wasn't a warning produced by instinct. 405 had no human instinct to speak of, and his internal systems weren't designed to experience dread. It was a discrepancy between what he could observe and what he expected to find.
The quarry was too quiet.
Even abandoned sites carried traces of life. Wind moved through broken structures. Small animals disturbed the dirt. Insects gathered beneath warm stones. Here, the air seemed completely still. A thin layer of dust covered the machinery, but there were no fresh tracks crossing it. The weeds along the path didn't move.
405 turned his head toward the entrance.
Nothing.
He looked toward the opposite road.
Nothing.
Then he noticed the pebble beside his foot.
It was trembling.
At first, the movement was so slight that he wondered whether he'd imagined it. The stone shivered against the gravel, then rolled a few inches toward the center of the quarry. Another pebble followed. Dust lifted from the ground in a thin, wavering line.
405 lowered his gaze.
The tremors were spreading.
He stepped backward.
A heavy pressure settled over the quarry.
It wasn't a sound. It wasn't a visible force. The air simply seemed to grow denser, pressing against his wooden frame until the joints in his legs creaked. Dust flattened against the ground. The loose fence along the terrace bent inward, its old boards groaning under an invisible weight.
405 looked up.
A man stood on the upper ledge.
Blond hair. Bright blue eyes. Gray kimono. White shirt. A gold revolver resting loosely in one hand.
405 recognized him immediately.
Brass Hymlinn.
The Apostle of Frost stood near the edge of the terrace, looking down at the quarry floor as though he'd arrived early for an appointment. His saber hung at his side, and the loose flap of his white sash shifted slightly in the air. He didn't appear surprised to see the puppet.
If anything, he looked pleased.
405 remained still.
Brass raised one hand in a casual greeting.
"Found you."
405 calculated the distance between them, the height of the terrace, and the number of routes leading out of the quarry. The nearest path lay behind him, but reaching it would require crossing open ground. The other options were a narrow track along the eastern wall and a steep slope littered with loose stone.
Brass stood between him and the eastern route.
405 looked at the gold revolver.
Then at the saber.
Then back at Brass.
"You're in my way."
Brass smiled.
"That's a rather unfriendly thing to say to someone who came all this way to see you."
"I didn't invite you."
"No, I suppose you didn't."
Brass stepped off the ledge.
405's head tilted upward as the man dropped toward the quarry floor. There was no ladder beneath him, no rope, and no visible foothold. He simply fell, his kimono lifting around his legs as he descended several stories.
He landed on the stone without bending his knees.
The impact sent a shallow crack through the ground.
Dust rose around his boots, and several loose stones jumped into the air. The tremors spread across the quarry floor before fading into silence. Brass straightened, brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve, and looked at 405.
"You're smaller than I expected."
405 said nothing.
"Not that I thought you'd be much bigger. Still, I was hoping for something with a little more personality."
405 turned toward the eastern track.
Brass laughed softly.
"Leaving already?"
"Yes."
"That's disappointing."
405 began walking.
He didn't run immediately. Running would waste energy if Brass intended to let him pass. The man had made no attempt to attack, and his relaxed posture suggested that he wanted a conversation before anything else. 405 had encountered enough people to recognize when someone was trying to provoke a reaction.
He didn't need to provide one.
He crossed the quarry floor, keeping his movements steady. Behind him, Brass remained where he'd landed.
"You're not going to ask why I'm here?" Brass called.
"No."
"Not curious?"
"No."
"Not even a little?"
405 continued walking.
Brass sighed dramatically.
"You're making this difficult."
The pressure in the quarry increased.
405's next step sank slightly into the gravel. His joints resisted the movement, and the loose stones beneath his feet pressed into the ground as though an enormous weight had settled over them. He adjusted his balance and continued forward, but the force grew stronger with every step.
The ground began to crack.
A line spread beneath Brass's boots, branching through the stone like a fracture in glass. The broken fence along the western terrace snapped in half. The old crane groaned overhead, its metal frame bending until one of its support cables gave way.
405 looked up just as the cable snapped.
The crane's long arm swung downward.
He moved.
The wooden frame of his body twisted sharply to the side as the metal arm smashed into the ground where he'd been standing. The impact threw gravel across the quarry, and the force sent a wave through the surrounding stone. A section of the terrace collapsed, spilling rocks down the slope.
405 landed on one hand, pushed himself upright, and continued running.
Behind him, Brass hadn't moved.
"Better," he said.
405 reached the first pile of broken rock and ducked behind it as another section of the quarry wall cracked. Stones the size of his head tumbled down the slope, smashing into the gravel and bouncing toward him. He moved between them, his small body slipping through gaps that would've been too narrow for a human adult.
A boulder struck the pile beside him.
The impact shattered its edge.
405 threw himself forward as fragments scattered through the air. A jagged piece struck his shoulder, knocking him sideways. His arm hit the ground, and a sharp click sounded from the joint.
He rose immediately.
The damage was minor. His left shoulder still responded, though the movement had become less precise. He adjusted his posture and sprinted toward the narrow track along the eastern wall.
Brass watched him go.
The man lifted his revolver and fired.
The bullet didn't strike 405.
It struck the ground several feet ahead of him.
A thin, rectangular distortion appeared across the stone. For an instant, the surface looked like a sheet of glass laid flat against the world. The bullet vanished into it, leaving no hole behind.
405 slowed.
He recognized the spatial distortion, but not its exact structure. The surface had no obvious boundary once the bullet disappeared. The stone looked ordinary again, except for a faint line that shimmered when he moved his head.
Brass lowered the revolver.
"Go on."
405 didn't move.
Brass tilted his head.
"What's the matter? You were in such a hurry a moment ago."
405 looked at the ground ahead, then at the man standing across the quarry. He couldn't determine the full conditions of the technique from one shot, but the distortion had appeared precisely where the bullet landed. Brass had either prepared the space in advance or created the fold at the moment of impact.
Neither possibility was encouraging.
405 stepped around the affected area.
Brass smiled wider.
"Good."
405 ran.
He crossed the narrow track and reached a section of the quarry where the walls rose steeply on either side. The passage was barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast, and the ground sloped toward a drainage channel clogged with broken stone. He could hear the faint scrape of his feet again, along with the occasional click from his damaged shoulder.
Then the sound disappeared.
405 stopped.
The silence arrived without warning.
His footsteps had vanished. The faint creaking of his joints was gone, and even the loose stones shifting beneath his feet made no noise. The world seemed to have lost an entire layer of itself. He could see the gravel move, but he couldn't hear it. He could see dust rising from the ground, but the air carried no sound.
Brass's technique had changed.
405 turned.
The man stood at the far end of the passage, his gold revolver pointed toward the ground. He hadn't raised his voice or made any dramatic gesture. He was simply watching.
405 tried to move.
His legs responded, but the pressure had grown heavier. Each step required more force than the last, and the air seemed to resist the movement of his limbs. He could still run, but the silence made it impossible to judge the distance between them by sound. There was only what he could see.
Brass raised two fingers.
405's body jerked sideways.
A sudden force struck the space beside him. The impact wasn't visible, but the stones along the wall exploded outward, sending fragments across the passage. 405 ducked beneath them, his head narrowly missing a piece of rock that tore through the air where his face had been.
He didn't wait for another attack.
405 sprinted toward a narrow gap between two boulders. The opening was barely large enough for his shoulders, but he turned sideways and slipped through it. His damaged arm scraped against the stone, and a small piece of wood broke from the edge of his shoulder.
He kept moving.
Behind him, the passage shook.
Brass's silence followed.
405 emerged onto a lower terrace and ran beneath a rusted conveyor belt. Its metal supports stood in a row, creating a series of narrow spaces between the legs. He moved through them as the ground behind him fractured, each impact sending stone dust across the path.
He couldn't hear any of it.
The silence was more disturbing than the destruction.
405 had no need to hear his own footsteps, but sound provided information. It told him where objects were moving, how quickly they approached, and whether the structure around him was about to collapse. Without it, every movement became a calculation based on sight alone.
He reached the end of the conveyor belt and looked ahead.
The road out of the quarry lay beyond a steep ramp.
Between him and the ramp stood Brass.
The man was leaning against a wooden support that hadn't been there a moment ago. His posture was relaxed, his revolver resting in one hand. He looked as though he'd simply taken a shortcut.
405 stopped.
Brass lifted his free hand and gave a small wave.
405 turned around.
A section of the conveyor belt collapsed behind him.
The metal structure fell across the terrace, cutting off the route he'd just used. Dust filled the passage, and the supports slammed into the ground hard enough to send cracks racing along the stone.
Brass straightened.
The silence ended.
The crash arrived all at once.
Metal screamed against rock. Gravel cascaded down the slope. The impact echoed through the quarry, bouncing between the terraces until it faded into the open air.
405 looked toward the ramp again.
Brass was still there.
"You're surprisingly quick," the man said. "I thought you'd be easier to catch."
405 didn't answer.
"Does Kaguya know you've wandered off?"
The puppet's head turned slightly.
Brass noticed.
"There it is."
He pushed away from the support and took a step forward.
"I was beginning to think you didn't understand anything I said."
405's fingers curled.
Brass's expression remained pleasant, but his eyes had sharpened. He was watching every small movement, every adjustment of 405's posture. The question hadn't been idle. He'd been waiting for a reaction, and the puppet had given him one.
"How much do you remember?" Brass asked.
405 remained silent.
"Your instructions, perhaps. Your destination. The person you're supposed to meet when you get there."
He took another step.
"What about the person controlling you?"
405 moved.
He darted toward the wall, planted one foot against a protruding ledge, and launched himself onto the remains of a narrow staircase carved into the stone. The steps were uneven and partly collapsed, but they offered a route toward the upper road.
Brass watched him climb.
Then he disappeared.
405 reached the next landing and turned sharply.
The man was gone.
For a fraction of a second, 405 saw nothing but empty stone. Then a thin line appeared across the wall beside him, its edges so perfectly straight that it looked as though someone had drawn it with a blade.
The surface opened.
Brass stepped out of the flattened space.
405 recoiled.
The man didn't bother drawing his saber. He simply extended one hand and pushed.
The force struck 405 in the chest.
His small body flew backward, hit the opposite wall, and bounced onto the landing. The impact cracked the stone behind him. His internal frame jolted, and a warning tremor passed through his limbs as his systems struggled to stabilize.
He rolled onto his side.
Brass stepped out of the folded space and brushed dust from his hand.
"You're not much of a conversationalist."
405 forced himself upright.
His chest panel had shifted. One of the fastenings had broken loose, exposing a narrow seam beneath the wood. The gem inside remained secured, but the impact had disturbed its housing.
He pressed one hand against his chest.
Brass's eyes followed the movement.
For the first time, his smile faded.
"Ah."
The single syllable was quiet, but something in his expression changed. His attention had moved beyond the puppet's face and toward the damaged panel. He studied the exposed seam, then looked back at 405 with a more focused interest.
"That explains a few things."
405 backed away.
Brass took a step forward.
"Don't worry. I'm not interested in taking you apart piece by piece."
He raised the revolver.
"I'm interested in making sure there's nothing left to take apart."
405 jumped.
The bullet struck the landing beneath him.
The stone folded inward.
A rectangular section of the staircase flattened into a thin, pale surface, and the space beneath 405's feet seemed to vanish. He dropped through the opening, falling into a narrow gap between the outer wall and the collapsed stairway.
Brass lowered the revolver.
For a moment, the opening remained suspended in the stone.
Then it snapped shut.
405 fell through darkness.
His body struck a sloping shelf of rock, bounced once, and slid down the incline. He scraped against the wall, catching on a protruding edge before dropping onto a lower section of the quarry. The impact rattled his joints, and his damaged shoulder nearly separated from its socket.
He lay still for a fraction of a second.
Then he moved.
The lower terrace was cluttered with broken machinery and discarded equipment. A row of empty barrels stood beside a wooden platform, and a narrow drainage tunnel ran beneath the platform toward the eastern side of the quarry.
405 crawled beneath it.
He heard a sound behind him.
Not footsteps.
A faint, dry rustle.
He looked through the gap between two boards.
Brass was standing on the upper landing, looking down into the space where 405 had fallen. The man had one hand resting against the stone wall. His fingers were spread across its surface, and the air beside his palm had begun to shimmer.
405 understood.
The folded space wasn't limited to the places where Brass fired his weapon. He could use the quarry itself, turning its walls and floors into concealed layers. A route that looked open could be blocked in an instant. A wall that appeared solid could become a doorway. Even the space beneath 405's feet might not remain where it was supposed to be.
He couldn't outrun the entire quarry.
He needed to leave it.
405 crawled out from beneath the platform and sprinted toward the drainage tunnel. The opening was low and narrow, but his body fit through it. He dropped onto his stomach and pulled himself forward, the wood along his shoulders scraping against the rough stone.
Behind him, the platform shifted.
The boards bent downward.
405 accelerated.
The tunnel narrowed, forcing him to turn his head sideways. Dust gathered in the seams of his body, and loose stones scraped against his back. He moved as quickly as he could, dragging himself through the darkness until a pale rectangle of daylight appeared ahead.
He emerged onto the eastern slope.
The road was close.
405 rose and ran along the edge of the quarry, keeping near the wall. The incline was steep, and loose gravel slid beneath his feet. Twice, he nearly lost his balance. Each time, he caught himself against the rock and continued upward.
A shadow crossed the ground in front of him.
405 looked up.
Brass stood on the terrace above.
The man rested one hand against the stone, his head tilted as he watched the puppet climb. He hadn't chased him through the tunnel. He'd simply moved to another position, cutting off the route as though the distance between the terraces were an inconvenience he'd decided to ignore.
405 stopped.
Brass lifted his revolver.
405 jumped sideways as the shot rang out.
The bullet struck the wall above him, and the rock split with a sharp crack. A section of stone peeled away from the surface, revealing a thin, rectangular plane hidden within it. The folded space opened like a page being turned.
The debris that had been stored inside burst outward.
Rusted tools, broken boards, and jagged pieces of stone exploded from the wall in a violent wave. They struck the slope and tumbled downward, filling the path with flying fragments. 405 threw himself behind a boulder.The debris smashed against its surface.One piece pierced the wood near his ankle. Another struck his back, knocking him forward. He rolled down the slope, caught himself against the ground, and scrambled to his feet.Brass lowered his revolver."Almost."405 looked at him.The word wasn't a threat. It was an observation, delivered with the same mild interest someone might show when watching a game come close to its conclusion.That made it worse.Brass wasn't rushing. He wasn't struggling to keep up. He was letting 405 run, watching how he moved, and adjusting the quarry around him whenever the puppet found a route that might work.He wanted to see what 405 would do.405 turned and ran.The final stretch of the slope opened onto the road beyond the quarry. A low stone wall separated the excavation from the roadside, and beyond it stood a weathered marker bearing the name of the nearest settlement.ROCSPIRIT.405 fixed his gaze on the sign.He was close enough now to see the cracks in its surface.The road beyond it descended toward the city's outer district, where buildings crowded together beneath the pale light of the suns. Roofs rose above the wall, and distant towers marked the deeper parts of the settlement. He could see movement near the entrance, small figures crossing between buildings, and the occasional vehicle traveling along the main road.People.Witnesses.A place where Brass couldn't reshape every inch of the environment without drawing attention.405 reached the stone wall and vaulted over it.His feet struck the road.He stumbled, caught himself, and continued forward.Behind him, the quarry fell silent.405 didn't stop to investigate.He ran toward Rocspirit, his damaged shoulder hanging slightly lower than the other. Every few steps, his chest panel shifted against the broken fastening. He kept one hand pressed against it, protecting the gem inside as he crossed the road.The city entrance was only a short distance away.Then the pressure returned.The road seemed to dip beneath his feet. Dust flattened against the stones, and the wall beside him groaned. A hairline fracture appeared across the road, spreading toward his heels.405 pushed harder.The entrance grew closer.A rectangular distortion appeared across the road ahead.He swerved.The folded space opened, revealing a concealed saber that shot outward with enough force to split the stone behind him. The blade passed close enough to scrape his side, tearing a strip of fabric from his body before embedding itself in the roadside wall.405 didn't look back.He reached the entrance and crossed beneath the stone arch.The pressure vanished.The road behind him remained intact, and the distant sounds of Rocspirit returned all at once. Voices carried between the buildings. A vehicle rumbled along a side street. Somewhere nearby, someone called out to a merchant.405 slowed to a walk.He continued several paces into the city before stopping near the edge of the road. His shoulder remained damaged, and his chest panel needed attention. He'd have to find somewhere quiet to repair himself before continuing east.But the gem was intact.That was what mattered.405 turned around.Brass stood beyond the entrance, on the road between the city and the quarry. He hadn't crossed beneath the arch. He held the saber loosely at his side, while the gold revolver rested against his hip. His gray kimono shifted in the breeze, and his expression had returned to its usual calm.For a moment, neither of them moved.405 couldn't tell whether Brass had decided to stop or was simply allowing the chase to end on his own terms. The man could've continued. Nothing about his expression suggested that the effort would've troubled him.Instead, Brass watched from the road.405 looked at him for another second, then turned away.He continued walking east.His steps were uneven now, accompanied by a faint click from his damaged shoulder. He kept his hand against his chest as he moved deeper into Rocspirit, disappearing among the people and buildings.Behind him, the road remained quiet.Then came a different sound.Tiny footsteps.They emerged from the direction of the Widow's Path, light and uneven against the stone road. They approached the city entrance at a determined pace, accompanied by the faint scuff of little shoes and the occasional stumble.405 didn't turn around.He kept walking east.The footsteps followed.