Chapter 32: Pappy’s Gone!The pre-dawn light filtering through the velvet curtains of the Imperial Suite was a soft, bruised purple. It was quiet in the room, the kind of heavy, contented silence that usually only existed in fairy tales.

  In the center of the massive feather bed, save for the stark difference in their skin tone it was impossible to tell where Miz’ri ended and Talisa began. They were a tangle of obsidian and porcein limbs, straight white and curly brown hair and all the soft linens around.

  Miz’ri’s face was buried in the crook of Talisa’s neck, her arm thrown possessively over the girl’s waist. Talisa’s leg was hooked over Miz’ri’s, her hand resting on the back of the elf’s head, fingers tangled in the white strands. The Silence in Miz’ri’s head was gone. The anxiety of the pilgrimage was gone. There was only the steady, rhythmic beat of Talisa’s heart against her own.

  BAM. BAM. BAM.

  The sound was like a hammer blow to a pane of gss. Talisa shrieked, a high, startled sound as she jerked awake, her body convulsing in panic. "What?! Who?!"

  Miz’ri reacted with the speed of a predator. A low, guttural sound of pure irritation rumbled in her chest as she tightened her grip on Talisa, trying to pull the girl back down into the warmth. "Ignore it," she mumbled into Talisa’s skin. "It's just the world trying to be annoying. Go back to sleep."

  BAM. BAM. BAM.

  "Rosie! Dandy! Wake up!" Artie’s voice was muffled by the heavy oak, but the panic in it was sharp enough to cut through the wood. “We got a problem!”

  Talisa sat up, wrestling herself out of Miz’ri’s grip. She was flushed, her hair a disaster, and her eyes wide. "Miz, that's Artie. He sounds... he sounds scared."

  Miz’ri groaned, a long, aggrieved sound of a woman who had finally found peace only to have it stolen by a noisy male. She pushed herself up, the sheet pooling at her waist, exposing the healing skin on her shoulder. "If the building isn't on fire," she shouted at the door, "I am going to skin you alive, Artie! Go away!"

  "Rosie, this is serious!" Artie yelled back. "It’s Herkel; He’s gone!"

  The air left the room. Talisa froze. The soft, sleepy lover vanished, repced instantly by the terrified granddaughter. "Pappy?" she whispered.

  Miz’ri was out of bed in a second. She didn't bother with clothes. She grabbed her empty sword belt from the floor, mostly out of habit, wrapping it around her bare waist as she marched to the door. She threw the tch and yanked it open.

  Artie stood in the hallway, looking disheveled and frantic. He was still in his sleeping tunic, his daggers in hand. "The window," he panted, pointing down the hall toward Baby's room. "We woke up. The window was open. The ttice was broken. He climbed out."

  "He... climbed out?" Talisa squeaked, appearing behind Miz’ri, clutching the sheet to her chest. "Did you see where he went?!"

  Artie shook his head, "He’s a human skeleton walking through a city of superstitious miners. If the Guard sees him..."

  "They'll crush him," Talisa finished, her face draining of color. "Oh father, oh saints. He’s out there alone all by his gosh darn self!"

  Miz’ri looked at Talisa. The bliss of the night before was gone, shattered by the cold reality of their heresy. The girl was shaking, her eyes filling with tears of pure terror.

  "Get dressed," Miz’ri commanded, her voice snapping into professional steel. "We’re going hunting.", but as she stepped toward her pile of gear, her knees buckled slightly. The alchemical salve had closed the wounds, but the underlying tissue was still a raw, protesting knot of nerves. She hissed, hand flying to the doorframe for support.

  "Miz!" Talisa was at her side in an instant, but the Drow shook her head.

  "I'm fine. Just stiff."

  Miz’ri reached for the spot on the nightstand where her goggles usually sat. Her fingers met empty wood. The memory hit her like a physical blow—the shattering gss, the shards of her own rage and grief she had thrown them away the day before.

  She stood there for a moment, her breath hitching. For the st three decades, those goggles had been her armor against the surface. They were the filter that made the world bearable, the literal barrier between her and a sun she refused to accept. Now, she was naked.

  "We have to go," Talisa urged, already pulling on her boots.

  Miz’ri nodded, swallowing hard. She pulled her cloak tight, the red braided colr snug against her throat, and followed Talisa out of the suite. As they stepped through the heavy doors of the Iron Wing and onto the street, the world exploded. Even in the dim, soot-choked grey of a Rurokitarin morning, the light was a physical assault. It nced into Miz’ri’s pupils, sending a white-hot spike of pain straight into her brain.

  She recoiled, her hands flying to her face, a strangled sound escaping her throat. It was the same agony she’d felt her first day on the surface—the sun as a tormentor, a god of fire demanding her eyes as tribute.

  "Miz? Miz, talk to me!" Talisa’s voice sounded far away, muffled by the roaring in Miz’ri’s ears.

  "I can't... I can't see," Miz’ri gasped, her eyes squeezed shut, tears of irritation already leaking down her obsidian cheeks. "It’s too much. Everything is white."

  She felt Talisa’s hands on her wrists, gentle but firm, pulling her hands away from her face. "Look at me. Don't look at the sky. Look at me."

  Miz’ri forced her eyes open. The world was a blur of overexposed shapes and stabbing gres. But right there, in the center of the chaos, was Talisa. The girl’s auburn hair was a dull, manageable glow; her skin was a soft, grounding anchor. "You have to acclimate, Miz," Talisa whispered, her face inches from Miz’ri’s. "You said you wanted to be whole. Part of being whole is seeing the world as it is."

  Miz’ri gripped Talisa’s shoulders, her knuckles white. This was it. The first day of a different kind of sobriety. No goggles to dim the reality, no vice to drown out the silence. Just the raw, stinging truth of the light.

  "Okay," Miz’ri rasped, her eyes blinking rapidly, her pupils struggling to contract against the onsught. "Okay. I'm looking."

  She took a shaky breath, the sulfur-heavy air of the city filling her lungs. The pain didn't go away, but it settled into a dull throb. The shapes began to resolve—the jagged iron of the buildings, the flowing river of the morning shift.

  "Let's find him," Miz’ri said, her voice regaining its edge. She stepped forward, squinting into the grey light, welcoming the sting.

  The streets of Rurokitarin did not wake up like the streets of Vandi. There was no cheerful baking bread, no golden sunlight filtering through leaves. Here, the dawn was a grey, choking thing that tasted of sulfur and wet iron. The city was a machine that ran on coal and misery. As Miz’ri and Talisa stepped out of the Iron Wing, they were swallowed by the morning shift—a river of hunched borers in soot-stained clothes, marching toward the mines and the smelters with the dead-eyed stares of people who were paid in company scrip and slept in company beds.

  "Keep your head down," Miz’ri murmured, pulling her scarf tight over her nose. She scanned the crowd through squinted eyes, looking for anything that stood out—a fsh of white bone, a tattered coat, a wide-brimmed hat. But the crowd was a sea of grey and brown.

  "He’s not here," Talisa whimpered, her voice tight with rising panic. She was wringing her hands, her eyes darting frantically from w to alleyway. "He could be anywhere, Miz. He could be in a crusher. He could be... someone could have mistaken him for a demon and..."

  "Stop," Miz’ri ordered, though her tone was gentle. She spotted a food cart selling steamed buns filled with something that smelled vaguely of pork and heavily of onion. She grabbed Talisa’s arm and steered her toward it. "You're shaking. Eat."

  Miz’ri bought a bun, thrusting it into Talisa’s hand.

  Talisa stared at it as if it were a rock. "I can't," she whispered. "I feel sick. What if they caught him? What if they smashed him?"

  Miz’ri felt a pang of genuine arm. Talisa refusing food was like the sun refusing to rise. It was unnatural. It meant the girl was truly spiraling.

  "No one smashed him," Miz’ri said firmly. "He’s a Magleby. He’s stubborn. And he’s smart enough to hide."

  Miz’ri turned away from the crowd and looked up. The architecture of Rurokitarin was vertical, a chaotic yering of iron walkways, gargoyles, and steam pipes. If Herkel had climbed out a window, he hadn't gone down to the street. He had gone up.

  "There," Miz’ri pointed.

  Caught on the jagged wing of an iron gargoyle three stories up was a scrap of fabric. It was dark brown wool—the same fabric as Herkel’s disguise coat.

  "He took the high road," Miz’ri said, the thrill of the hunt sharpening her senses. "He’s moving across the rooftops. Away from the crowds."

  She grabbed Talisa’s hand and pulled her toward a maintenance dder. "Come on. We follow the trail."

  As they climbed, pulling themselves up into the smoggy haze of the upper city, Talisa’s breathing remained jagged. "Miz?" she asked, her voice small. "Are you... are you okay?"

  Miz’ri paused on a metal nding, looking down at the girl. "I am currently tracking a fugitive skeleton through an industrial nightmare. I am focused."

  "I mean... inside," Talisa pressed, climbing up beside her. She reached out, her hand brushing Miz’ri’s arm. "We talked about finding help. About the Silence. But now this... the stress... is it coming back?"

  Miz’ri looked away, staring out at the smokestacks belching bck clouds into the sky. The familiar, hollow ache was there, scratching at the back of her skull. The panic of the morning, the fear of losing Talisa’s great grandfather—it was feeding the void.

  "It itches," Miz’ri admitted, her voice low. She rubbed at her temple. "It feels like a wire pulled tight. I don't know where to begin, Talisa. How do you fix a mind that was broken by vice and despair? How do you heal when you’ve never been allowed to feel whole?" She looked back at Talisa, her eyes haunted. "I feel like I'm holding my breath. Waiting for the scream to start again…I…I can't…I can't do this.” Miz’ri choked out, her eyes darting around the crowd, seeing threats in every shadow. "It’s too loud. I need to... I need to go. I need to find…I don't know, but I need—"

  She turned to run, but a hand caught her. Not on her arm. Not on her wrist. Talisa reached up and hooked her fingers into the braided crimson colr around Miz’ri’s neck. She didn't yank. She didn't pull hard. She just held it, applying a steady, grounding pressure against Miz’ri’s throat. It was a tether. A physical reminder of the promise made in the dark. Miz’ri froze. The sensation of the colr tightening brought her back to the room, back to the bed, back to the moment she had surrendered.

  "Look at me," Talisa commanded, her voice low and fierce. She stepped into Miz’ri’s space, forcing the elf to look down. "You are not running from this."

  Miz’ri stared at her, her chest heaving. The static began to recede, repced by the warmth of Talisa’s proximity.

  "We fix this one step at a time," Talisa said, her thumb stroking the silk braid. "Stay grounded."

  Miz’ri let out a long, shuddering breath. Her shoulders dropped. The urge to flee vanished, repced by the profound relief of being held.

  "I remember," Miz’ri whispered, covering Talisa’s hand with her own. "I'm here.” They lingered for a moment before meeting foreheads, and sharing a gentle kiss. Together and grounded they tracked the trail across the rooftops for an hour, following scuff marks on ste tiles and snagged threads on iron railings. But the trail ended abruptly at the edge of the Iron Market—a sprawling, multi-level bazaar suspended on a massive steel ptform between two factory towers.

  The market was a riot of noise. Steam whistles shrieked, metal cnged against metal, and thousands of voices haggled over ore prices. It was the kind of chaotic, sensory overload that Miz’ri usually thrived in. But today, without her goggles, the gre from the polished steel was blinding. Without the numbing agent of alcohol or adrenaline, the noise was a physical assault.

  Despite this, kept her focus on the grounding neckce around her neck.

  The North District of Rurokitarin was a different world. The smog thinned here, repced by the scent of manicured wns and money. The blue tiles were polished to a mirror shine, and the ironwork wasn't industrial; it was art.

  Miz’ri tracked the scraps of fabric to a massive, wrought-iron gate that marked the entrance to the Iron Garden—a botanical marvel where trees made of copper and steel grew alongside actual, soot-stained oaks.

  "He went inside," Miz’ri whispered, pointing to a thread of brown wool caught on a decorative spike.

  They slipped through the gate. The garden was quiet, a maze of winding paths and sculpted hedges. Miz’ri moved with the silent grace of a hunter, but Talisa stumbled along behind her, her anxiety vibrating in the air.

  "There," Miz’ri breathed, stopping behind a statue of a weeping iron angel.

  In the center of a small, secluded grove, sat Herkel. He wasn't running. He wasn't hiding. He was sitting on a stone bench, his long legs crossed at the knee, his hands folded in his p. His hat was gone, revealing his skull to the open air, but he looked strangely peaceful. He was staring at a fountain, his head tilted as if listening to the water.

  "Pappy!" Talisa cried, the word tearing out of her throat.

  She broke cover, sprinting across the grass. Herkel turned his head slowly. He didn't rattle. He didn't flee. He simply raised a hand in a calm, welcoming wave.

  Talisa smmed into him, throwing her arms around his bony shoulders, burying her face in his tattered coat. "You bad, bad old man!" she sobbed, hitting his arm weakly. "You scared me to death! Why did you leave? Why did you run?"

  Herkel patted her back, a gentle, ccking rhythm. He pointed to the fountain, then to the sky, a silent gesture that meant nothing to Miz’ri but seemed to calm the girl.

  Miz’ri walked into the clearing slowly, her heart finally slowing its frantic pace. He was safe. They were safe. The crisis was over.

  "You are a menace," Miz’ri grunted, though she reached out and straightened the skeleton’s coat. "Next time you want a walk, leave a note."

  Talisa pulled back, wiping her eyes. She looked at Herkel, then at Miz’ri. The relief hit her like a wave, crashing over her and washing away the panic. She ughed, a wet, hysterical sound.

  "We found him," Talisa said, beaming. "We actually found him!”

  She turned to Miz’ri. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a heady, dizzying rush of affection. She didn't think. She didn't check the perimeter. She just moved.

  "Thank you, Miz” Talisa whispered, throwing her arms around Miz’ri’s neck.

  Miz’ri stiffened for a second, then melted. She wrapped her arms around Talisa’s waist, pulling her close. "You're welcome, Tali."

  Talisa leaned back, looking up into Miz’ri’s red eyes. The sun was filtering through the iron leaves, casting dappled shadows on their faces. It was perfect. It was safe.

  "I love you," Talisa murmured.

  “I love you too,” Miz'ri said as she leaned in to kiss the girl again.

  It wasn't a hidden kiss. It wasn't a stolen moment in the dark. It was right there, in the open, under the sky. Miz’ri kissed her back, slow and deep, forgetting the city, the danger, and the eyes of the world.

  "Talisa?"

  The voice was cool, cultured, and terrifyingly familiar.

  Talisa froze. Miz’ri felt the girl turn to stone in her arms.

  They broke apart, spinning toward the sound.

  Standing on the path, not ten feet away, was a woman. She was tall, nearly Miz’ri’s height but with the same sturdy build and soft curves as Talisa. Her hair was the same rich auburn, but streaked with little perfect stripes of white. She wore a heavy, embroidered purple and bck. Despite her dark attire, her familiar blue eyes were wide with confusion and a dawning, complicated realization.

  "Mother?!" Talisa squeaked, her voice an octave higher than normal.