Boreal

Chapter One

The Undercity was a place few dared tread. Its winding pitch-black tunnels seemed to stretch on for leagues. The sculpted marble and twisted earth mapped the streets of worlds long since buried, and the worlds which had been built atop them. Home to duppies and ghouls, restless spirits, left to roam forgotten tunnels and silent halls.

It wasn't safe, the grown-ups said, and so no one came to the Undercity.

But Ptarmigan had never been one to listen.

The alembic lantern burned low, filling the tunnel with a dim, golden shine. Enough for Ptarmigan to see by, at the very least. It swung wildly, the flame flickering, casting dancing shadows amongst the gloom. Shyam stretched her neck, his wyvern taking care not to jostle the light too much, its handle clutched tightly in her silver beak.

"We should turn back, soon," she said, her voice echoing through the back of his skull. "We've almost burnt this capsule down."

"Hush up," Ptarmigan snapped back, earning a disgruntled – if muffled – chirp in response.

"I'll drop the lantern."

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

He tore his gaze away from their map, doing his best to hold a scowl as he met her defiant stare head on.

In this light, her feathers glittered with sleek, frozen oil keeping, them from clumping together. She was still young, barely larger than a cat at this point, but already her adult plumage had started to come through in full force. She wouldn't be much larger than a horse once fully grown. A shame, the other racers had lamented, for such a well reared mount to turn out so small.

Shyam was a show bird, bred to perfection to resemble a peacock, her coat a subtle mix of blues fading into green and hazel, each feather flecked with specks of purple. A pair of twin tails twitched and flickered nervously behind her, her talons picking at the threaded wool of his cloak.

Four midnight eyes peered back at him - two on the sides of her head, like a cow, two pointed forwards, the eyes of a predator. The dying flames danced in their reflection, like pools of black water with no bottom. She spread her wings, catching her balance as he picked up his pace.

"You wouldn't," he repeated.

"I don't need the lantern. I can see in the dark, you can't."

"And you'd leave me here?"

"Of course not!"

"So, you want to lead me all the way back up, in the dark?"

His wyvern hesitated. Ptarmigan scoffed.

"We're almost done with this tunnel. I want to see where it goes. We've never made it this far before."

"We need to be careful, Tarm. This far down if something happens-"

"Nothing's going to happen."

"- no one would ever find us."

At that, Ptarmigan rolled his eyes. They'd been exploring these tunnels since they'd first moved to Kyba, almost a Season ago, and in that time, it had become a sanctuary of sorts. He wasn't some child who needed coddling anymore – he'd spent eleven whole Emergences being coddled – eleven rotations around the sun. He was practically a grown-up, now. He knew what risks were worth taking.

He wasn't a fool.

Ptarmigan paid little attention to the corridors, winding their way into the endless maze on either side of them. Most reeked of mildew and rot, a clear sign they'd collapsed further in, their drainage blocked up. Those which seemed safe at first glance had already been marked – a little circle struck through with a line on the left-hand wall of each. Hands long since forgotten and buried had deemed each as unstable, and Ptarmigan, for all his recklessness, knew not the challenge the dead. And there were no duppies or ghouls roaming these halls – just an empty silence, stretching on into forever.