Personal morale was at an all-time low, which coincidentally lined up with the cult’s all-time high. People become willing to throw aside cynicism in the face of real consequence, or so the Guide taught. Unfortunately, this rise in faith had not reached the rest of the room, leaving Bauwls to ruminate in her newly advanced religious zeal alone.

The room, Bauwls now noticed, was quite dimly lit, especially toward the corners. She had taken notice of this due in part to the figure she routinely saw in them. Figure is a bit of an exaggeration, smudge was probably more applicable to the thing at hand. It only appeared in her peripheral vision and never for long enough to get a good look at, or even to verify its existence. All things considered, no one would have blamed her for imagining such a thing, what with the resurrection and all.

Brain damage, most likely.

It wasn’t a major issue, though. If anything, the figure was a comforting presence in their dire situation. It seemed to be watching over them. Or that’s what Bauwls thought, anyway. Brain damage and everything.

Her thoughts were broken, as always, by the others in the room.

“Who do ya think you are, baldie? Running around, catching us like dat? And what for? Getting caught by some wackaloons in a hut?”

“We’ve been in worse spots before, boss! We’ll get outta dis one, too!”

“Ya damn right, Pickis!”

“Gob!” Gnom yelled. “His name’s Gob!”

“Ah, stuff it, shorty,” said the artist formerly known as Chubark. “Now listen up fellas, we’re doing things my way from now on.” He pulled a rusted knife, only about an inch long, from a sheathe on his ankle. “Either ya get us outta here or the big guy gets it!” He pointed the teenie-weenie blade to Balder’s fleshy neck. He didn’t so much as flinch.

“Hey!” Bauwls said, lunging as far as she could off the bed - which wasn’t much - and pointing at Hob. “Leave him alone!”

“Hm, whaddaya think, Pickis? Should we just let him go?”

“Seems like a good idea to me, boss,” Gob said slimily.

“Me, too! Say, lady, what’s ya plan to get us outta here, huh? You give me a plan and I’ll let him go. Just for you.”

“Uhm…” She had no plan. No plan at all. But she was damned if she couldn’t stall for time. “We could… get the… thing… over there and…”

“What… what ting?” Hob asked.

“We could get… the thing… and use.. the.. thing to uh… get us out by-” The door slammed open. Bauwls sighed with relief.

“We could hear Bauwls from down the hall!” It was Voolio and the others, looking even more disheveled than ever. Dylk had a hand behind his back, rubbing the place where the sun don’t shine. Ballin was aggressively wiping his hand on his pant leg. Bauwls had to ask.

“What happened-”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Bauwls,” Ballin said, sulking.

Balder stood up from the bed, flinging Hob in the air without a second thought, sending him flying in an arch along his taut chain.

“Hi!” “Hi, Balder,” Voolio said. “Where’s Gnom?”

“Here,” Gnom said, muffled underneath Hob.

“While I’m glad we’re back together,” Ballin said, “we should get out of here as soon as possible.”

“We agree.” The crackling voice came from outside. Bauwls couldn’t see the source; the hut - and it was the same hut - was more dimly lit than when they’d entered.

And it seemed to be growing darker.

“Looks like the sacrifices have escaped, mistress.” There were four figures in the doorway, all shrouded by the growing dark. The voice was familiar to her, but she couldn’t place it.

“Escaped, yes,” said someone with the voice of a woman. “Escaped from their earthly confines. But not a single step farther from me.”

“Very good, mistress. Very good.”

“Tryndiss!” Dylk yelled, falling to the ground. “It’s him! He saw me at the riot! Why are you here?” His voice wavered. He backed into the room with the rest of them but Bauwls stood beside her bed, unmoving.

“You will know soon enough, young Willum. You will know when you meet your wretched Dun. You will soon beg to see him.” She cackled.

“No,” Dylk said. Bauwls could no longer see him. The darkness snaked around the doorway and onto the walls. “It’s not possible. It’s not! Dun killed you! He killed you!”

“Oh, young Willum. Still believe in the old tales, do we? Much to learn, much to learn. No, your Dun didn’t kill Wriling. He lives. But I am not he.” The darkness became complete, seeping into Bauwls’ eyes. “Do you not recognize the voice of a she-elf when you hear it? No? You will learn it, Willum, when the world crumbles to ruin in the coming years. When Earth returns to Wriling’s void and you,” it said, voice itching, clawing at her ears, “to Oth.” Bauwls knew then there could only be one standing before them. Only one could desiccate light so completely. Its creator.

“Ithia,” she whispered.

“Ah, the Yforno spawn speaks! Tell me, child, have you met a god before?”

She had.

Bauwls blinked. A memory came flooding back to her. A memory of a clouded place, a place of light and warmth that had brought her comfort after her death. And she felt it now. She felt it. She remembered the face of…

“Moosa.”

A bolt of lightning uncoiled from the sky, lighting the dark. For a moment, she saw the hooded figures in the doorway, one a maiden in gold. Then, as the bolt struck her and her followers, they disappeared.

All that remained were two black cloaks, empty and smoldering into ash.

Bauwls felt another presence smile down on her, then it too was gone, leaving only her and her companions in the hut. After it left, the memory of that strange, lighted place started to fade.