The room was devoid of life, and the must of dusty books had reclaimed the air. A cold draft moved along the floor, curling around their paws.

  Greg crossed to the hearth and stacked half a dozen chunks of wood on the cool ash. He stared at the pile for a moment, waiting for it to catch on its own, then turned to Mari.

  “Have you been able to get your flame yet?”

  Mari stepped in beside him and sighed. “I was in the pyrokinetics lab. I made a spark once. Meanwhile, the rest of the class was shooting flamethrowers out of their eyeballs.”

  Jerro sank into the big corner chair and shut his eyes. Phlip flopped down beside the cold hearth, ears spread like he owned the place.

  “I can give it a try, I guess.”

  She reached toward the wood and focused on the feeling. The emotion of fire. Dancing lights that warmed their den through winter. The rage that reduced everything it touched to ash. Red and yellow energy filled her eyes and licked up toward her brow. A spark fell from her fingertip and fizzled on the wood.

  “Just use the lighter,” Jerro said, eyes still closed, voice muffled by the upholstery.

  Mari threw her paws down and mocked his tone. “Yeah. Just use the lighter, Greg.”

  She turned toward the short hall, then stopped. Rufus’s door was cracked open.

  Mari pushed it a little wider, just enough to peer into the shadowed space. A lamp lay knocked over in the far corner, casting its light sideways across the study. The desk was a mess of papers. Drawers had been yanked out and spilled across the floor. Books from Rufus’s personal collection lay open, bindings bent back like someone didn’t care if they broke.

  “Hey, guys…” Mari kept her voice low. “This isn’t right.”

  Behind her, the fire smoldered in the hearth. Mari glanced back over her shoulder.

  “Got the fire going,” Greg said, then rose to join her.

  Jerro lagged behind, chewing on a short bit of wood as he came, the habit doing its best to hold him together.

  They stacked at the cracked door, all three peering into the disheveled room.

  Mari stepped in first. Greg moved to straighten the fallen lamp. Jerro drifted toward the shelves.

  A worn sheet of parchment lay spread across Rufus’s desk. One corner was pinned by a bleached white skull with sharp canines. Another by a smooth shard of black stone. Near the edge sat a small glass sphere on a chipped base, cloudy with age, trapping a tiny white house beneath drifting flecks that never quite settled.

  Mari pulled the chair upright, careful not to drag it too loudly across the floor. Greg adjusted the lamp so it cast a steadier pool of light. It didn’t brighten the entire room, but it gave them enough.

  “Looks like a struggle,” Jerro said, running a paw over the gouges. He glanced at the heap of books. “Or someone wanted it to look like one.”

  Mari stepped toward the desk, finding small open islands amid the sea of refuse. “Rufus isn’t exactly a neat freak,” she said. “But… yeah. I agree.”

  Greg joined her at the desk. Centered on the parchment was a diagram, three nested triangles forming a star contained in a circle.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Mari traced a paw around the central figure without touching it, hovering like she didn’t trust what might happen. The symbol webbed into other circles, each holding its own geometric mark, all of it connected by lines that branched and looped like tunnels.

  The ink looked thick, almost alive. As her paw passed close, the dark strokes swelled toward her, smoothing beneath her shadow. Mari pulled back fast and flicked her eyes to Greg. “This script…”

  Her finger followed the bold symbols across the top. She dropped her pack onto the chair, pulled out the rubbing from the cave, and flattened it beside the parchment. The stacked diamond symbol from her rubbing wasn’t on Rufus’s diagram, but some of the letters matched well enough to tighten her stomach.

  “This is a language,” Mari said.

  Greg stared at the rubbing. “Where’d that come from?”

  “Inside the cave I woke up in,” Mari said. “There was more, but most of it was scratched up. I couldn’t make it out. I was going to show Rufus and see if he knew anything.”

  Greg’s gaze drifted back over the desk. “Seems like he might. Now we just have to find him.”

  Jerro joined them, eyes fixed on the parchment. “Wait. I’ve seen that before.”

  Mari snapped at him. “Where?”

  Jerro hesitated. His jaw worked once, like he was chewing something he didn’t want to swallow. “I swore to the Ordinate I wouldn’t say anything.”

  He looked from Mari to Greg, then to Phlip, who had wandered into the study and sat in the corner like a lump of fur pretending he didn’t exist.

  “You have to promise this stays between us,” Jerro said, forcing firmness. “Only us.”

  Mari straightened and raised an empty paw, like an oath. “Phlip won’t say a word. Promise.” She held the straight face a beat too long, then a smile slipped out with a small laugh.

  Jerro and Greg held steady.

  “And neither will we,” Greg said. “On our friendship.”

  Mari nodded, lips pursed, already regretting the laugh.

  Jerro drew a breath. “Alright.” His eyes searched theirs like he needed traction. “There were creatures in Deepworks.”

  “What?” Greg and Mari said together.

  Mari’s expression emptied, the humor wiped clean. “So, it wasn’t a failure?”

  “Exactly,” Jerro said. “They weren’t from The Burrow. They weren’t anything I’ve ever seen.” His eyes drifted. “They were sinister. You could feel it coming off them. Hate, like it was all they had.”

  “Jerro, who did this?” Greg asked, trying to anchor him.

  Phlip shifted and knocked over a stack of books. He froze, ears up.

  “I don’t know.” Jerro’s voice dropped. “They wore cloaks. Moved like they knew the layout. When we finally got to them, there was a larger one and three smaller ones.” He swallowed. “It was like they’d grown the larger one somehow. Cables ran into the generators, and when the Keeper and I got there, they resisted our psionics and…”

  He stopped, tried again, words catching. “They started doing something to the Keeper. Draining her.”

  “But you stopped them,” Mari said. Hope, thin and shaky.

  “No,” Jerro swallowed. “Not really.” His gaze snapped to the desk like he needed it to keep his place. “I forced a pipe burst. It distracted them. I pushed into the mind of one of the smaller ones, but the big one obliterated it before I could steer it.”

  He went still, staring into nothing.

  Greg’s paw returned to Jerro’s shoulder. “And then what?”

  Jerro blinked and looked at him, eyes driving through Greg instead of at him. “They killed her,” he said. “Keeper Aleese.” His voice cracked. He blinked hard, looked down, and shoved his face into his elbow to choke back the sound that tried to escape.

  “I’m sorry,” Greg said. “I didn’t know. I was too caught up in my own stuff to even ask.”

  Mari leaned forward on the desk, voice soft. “We’re here for you. You’re not alone.”

  Down the hall, the hearth flared. Firelight flickered once across the doorway.

  Jerro shook his head, sniffled, and forced his gaze back to the parchment. “I think they went through some kind of portal. I was knocked out, so I’m not sure.” He pointed to the central symbol. “But that mark. That symbol. It was on the floor where the big one was standing.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Greg’s brow furrowed. “They knocked you out. Why didn’t they kill you too?”

  Jerro’s paw slid to his leg, almost unconsciously. “I don’t know how I survived. They threw me across the room. Probably thought I was dead.” He swallowed again. “They had psionics too. Powerful. My leg broke. I passed out. Next thing I remember, doctors.” He gave his healed leg a careful smack. “They used experimental regenerative tech.”

  Mari looked down at the menagerie of symbols and lines. “Jerro… this changes everything. What if this is connected to what happened to me in that cave?”

  Before Jerro could answer, the air shifted.

  A whisper moved through the room—not words, just motion. Warmth drew out of the space as if a door had opened to winter. A book flipped open on its own. Loose sheets spiraled upward, caught in a tightening whirlwind.

  The lamp flickered once, twice, then went out.

  Firelight from the hearth should have filled the hall, but it died at the threshold, as though the darkness was drinking it.

  Silence pressed down over Tailweaver’s.

  Then, the heavy front doors creaked open.

  Soft footsteps crossed the reading room.

  Mari, Greg, and Jerro dropped behind the desk in one motion. Phlip became a statue in the corner, ears lifted, eyes wide and glassy.

  They didn’t breathe. Not fully.

  Mari peered around the side of the desk, exposing only half her face. The footsteps grew closer. A pointed nose broke the line of the doorway, sliding into view. Against the layered shadows of an angular head, a single sharp white fang caught what little light remained.

  The head snapped sideways, scanning the study. It paused.

  Then the rest of the cloaked body flowed into view.

  It looked back down the hall and released a stream of screeches.

  Mari withdrew under the desk, pressing tight beside Jerro and Greg.

  Cloaks whisked through the room, brushing open books and dragging papers as the figures swept closer. A series of soft thuds hit the floor.

  A sweet, grassy stench bloomed in the air.

  Mari exhaled a tiny, audible sigh before she could stop it. She knew that smell. Phlip.

  The creatures shuffled and screamed again, agitated. Mari tapped her friends and whispered, “We move. Now.”

  She burst from behind the desk, snatched her helmet from her bag, and jammed it down over her head. Greg split to the other side, moving low and fast. Jerro rose, paw already pressed to his temple.

  Three cloaked figures stood in the study, all angled toward Phlip.

  Greg hit the nearest one with a full-body tackle, slamming it into the wall beside Phlip. Robes tangled. A hiss of movement. Greg and the creature disappeared into a knot of fabric and limbs.

  Jerro’s focus locked. The central cloaked figure froze mid-step.

  Mari turned toward the shelves, arms extended, palms forward. A pile of books lifted off the shelf in a wobbling cluster, and she sent them across the room in a rough barrage.

  The final unaffected creature extended a paw from its sleeve. The books curved away from it and its frozen companion as if repelled by an invisible field. Each near-contact crackled with blood-red energy, arcing and fading in quick ripples.

  The creature turned toward Mari and Jerro and clenched the air with its free paw.

  Mari’s feet lifted.

  Jerro’s feet lifted.

  They were drawn together like gravity had shifted to a single point between them. They slammed and dropped behind the desk in a heap.

  Mari’s vision blurred. She could see only the ceiling and the edges of the room as Greg was launched upward into it. He stuck for a moment, then dropped, crumbles of shattered earth raining down onto him.

  Mari forced herself upright.

  The three cloaked figures stood over Greg now, arms outstretched. Blood-red energy began to swirl and stream from their paws.

  Mari straightened her helmet and tried to repeat what she’d done in the cave. She focused until her face strained.

  Nothing.

  Greg peeled off the floor, led by his broad chest. Phlip sat paralyzed in the corner opposite the scene, frozen so perfectly he looked carved.

  Jerro was pushing to his feet when the blood-red light extinguished in an instant.

  A series of precise blue orbs zipped through the room, striking the cloaked figures one after another. The impact snapped them backward into the emptied shelves.

  Greg dropped hard to the floor, rolled with a groan, and clutched his head.

  The lamp flared back to life.

  Around the corner, the hearth fire returned, ripping into full, flickering brightness, without a moment’s weakness.

  In the doorway stood an old mole-rat, wrapped in tattered brown robes. His wrinkled, hairless skin formed smooth flats and deep creases. A grid of tattoos rose from beneath the robe collar. A thick beaded necklace hung on his narrow frame. Several long silver hairs were woven into thin eyebrows above stormy, clouded eyes.

  A single blue diamond faded from his forehead, the apex of a triangle formed by his eyes and the mark. Its glow was light blue, then gone.

  Mari’s paws fell to her sides. Her eyes widened like she needed more space for what she was seeing.

  “Rufus?”

  “Yes,” Rufus said, voice calm and weirdly cheerful. “Gather your friends and hurry. We’re already behind time.”

  He snapped his head hard right and shouted down the hall, “Batten down the hatches, ye scallywags!”

  Mari blinked, still catching up. “Rufus, what’s going on? Who are they?”

  “No one you can reason with,” Rufus said, and vanished to the right where the hallway ended in a bookshelf.

  Mari helped Jerro up. Jerro reached for Greg and hauled him to his feet. Phlip remained in the corner, a pile of pellets at his feet.

  “And grab that map on my desk while you’re at it,” Rufus called, sounding farther away than he should have been.

  “Of course it's a map,” Mari said.

  Jerro shrugged and retracted the parchment into its case, tucking it into his bomber jacket. “Guess so. That actually makes a lot of sense.”

  Greg sagged, slow to move. Jerro came back, pulled Greg’s arm over his shoulder, and guided him toward the hall. Greg groaned and went pale, the green tint creeping in.

  “Hang on,” Greg muttered. He reeled and heaved up a pile of thick, chunky white slime onto the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Rufus,” Greg slurred, wiping the corner of his mouth with a paw. “I’ll clean it up.”

  “Lemme get ten coins and a ticket to the cinema, see!” Rufus echoed from down the hall in an odd nasal voice.

  Mari stepped into the hall, then froze. She poked her head around the corner, listened, and dragged back.

  “Guys,” she said quietly, “let’s go. Come on.”

  The bookshelf in the hall had swung open, revealing stone steps leading down into a lined corridor. Candles appeared every so often, lighting the way in warm, wavering pockets.

  They descended, following Rufus’s voice as it drifted ahead.

  As they neared the end of the hall, they heard him again. “Sector nineteen has been lost. The galactic fleet is scattered between systems. Our forces are in—” He halted.

  The corridor opened into a round chamber with a low ceiling. The gray floor segmented into slices that joined at a point in the center.

  Rufus hovered on the far side, legs crossed, paws resting in his lap. His fingers formed a circle, index and thumb touching like he held an invisible ball.

  “Ah, wonderful,” Rufus said. “I’m glad you all could join me this fine evening. We have little time.”

  “Yeah,” Mari said. “You mentioned that already.”

  “Oh, did I?” Rufus replied brightly. “Apologies.”

  Jerro stepped forward. “Rufus, what were those creatures?”

  Rufus’s eyes rolled back. His paws extended, palms down. His fingers drifted from side to side like he was playing invisible keys. Then his eyes snapped forward, and he froze, staring at the trio.

  “I must speak quickly,” he said, voice flattening. “I don’t know how much longer I have. There has been a fissure in the fabric of time. The three of you are critical in repairing the damage. The events of the last lune are connected and will be explained in time, but for now I need you to trust—”

  He stopped mid-thought.

  Mari, Greg, and Jerro looked at each other, then back to him. The silence stretched just long enough to feel dangerous.

  Rufus’s eyes rolled back again. He dropped his legs to the floor and began fencing an invisible opponent with grace and speed that didn’t match his frame.

  “En garde!” he shouted.

  A dash forward. A quick riposte. A flurry to finish. He bowed and pulled a nonexistent mask from his face.

  Mari’s stomach turned. Greg’s brow tightened, calculating. Jerro didn’t blink, as if he was afraid the room would change again if he did.

  Rufus paused.

  Slowly turned back to them.

  Then he picked up where he’d left off, like nothing had happened.

  “This is a transit station,” he said, drifting toward the center of the chamber and opening his arms. “With the proper key, it will take us to a pocket of isolated time where this malady cannot reach my mind, and we can assess the next steps.” His tone tightened. “Quickly now. We have only moments.”

  Mari stepped forward, then hesitated. “Wait. We’ll be able to come back, right? My father needs me.”

  “It can’t be certain,” Rufus said. A sly smile slid into place. “However, by taking this step, you open a door to reunite with…” He paused, choosing carefully. “Others you thought to be lost.”

  Soft footsteps hustled in the connecting hallway above.

  Greg’s eyes flicked to the ceiling, then to Mari. “He’s losing himself,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “But those cloaked things are coming, and I don’t like what they can do.”

  Jerro swallowed, jaw tight. “Deepworks wasn’t a story,” he said. “If Rufus is our only dig out, then we take it.”

  Mari’s gaze darted toward the hall, then down to Phlip. Her paw found his harness and closed around it like a promise. “Together,” she said, more to herself than to them.

  Greg nodded once, firm. Jerro answered with the smallest tilt of his head.

  They moved.

  The three friends and Phlip ran onto the segmented platform.

  Mari looked past Rufus toward the hall as a small contingent of cloaked figures breached the chamber. She began to lift, feet rolling from heel to toe, the ground letting go of her in slow increments.

  The creatures unleashed fierce screeches. Their blasts were swept upward and vanished through the ceiling.

  A muffled roar replaced the repulsive screams.

  The world sundered.

  Everything dissolved as a rush of energy pulsed through their bodies. Tingling radiated from their core through the tips of their paws.

  A final sound echoed dully in their ears, like a distant explosion heard through stone.

  For a brief second, before the shattered image of the short gray room fully vanished, Mari saw it again in the streaming energy.

  That face from the cave.

  She had thought it was her mother, but this time it took on an ambiguous form, shifting at the edges. The visage swirled in residual particulate and disappeared as the only world they had ever known faded from existence.