Like worms enticed by drumming rain, we scurried from our deep hole. The rumble of the world strengthened, until its non-rhythm seeped into my bones, rattling my confidence. We strode through the soggy underpassages towards the outside air, yet the ambient light had barely brightened.

"It shouldn't be night yet", I said.

"No." Vesija gripped the carbine tight as if ready to break it in half. The howl of rushing wind joined the low sounds of the earth. "A sandstorm", the man said and lifted his filter scarf on his face.

The terror I should have felt was dulled my the sedatives saturating my blood. I smiled to myself and fumbled with the collar of my gown, until it enveloped my mouth and nose in its respiratory moistness. If any divine influence slithered into my mind, I was too dislocated to notice.

We exited the tunnel into an open sewer that spilled its waste into an overgrown mire at the lakeshore. Scintillating yet dark dust saturated the air, blanketing the world in impenetrable dark. Streaks of lightning illuminated silhouettes of the cane forest, and my hair levitated around my head.

"Friction storm!" I yelled into the chittering scream of the sand typhoon.

The chirurgeon nodded with the grim acceptance of something he had already suspected. His mouth moved behind the scarf, but I couldn't make out the words, so I tapped my ear.

"Speak louder!"

"I said", he enunciated clearly. "There has never been a storm like this here. Never in historic times."

"Ah." I squinted to keep the worst of the dust and spray away from my eyes. "Is there still anything we can do?" With all of my heart, I wished that there wouldn't be. My puny soul craved for an excuse to give up, to be a coward, to falter at the end of the world.

"If the leader of the Jaan dies, this might stop."

"Might." I would have sighed, had my breath not wavered too much. "We should get your wagon, in case we need to leave abruptly."

"I agree." His expression wavered between frantic desperation and fatigue.

"What about the townsfolk? Can we do anything to help them?"

The man remained silent and still in the raging gale. "No. It's too late. Any attempt at evacuation would only create a stampede. Best that everyone remains sheltered and hopes for the best. It'll be alright. We are hardy folk."

I failed to swallow, my mouth already as dry as the sandy wind.

We hurried through shadows that masked the chaos of Hitunna. Few seemed to have taken the chirurgeon's advice and stayed safe indoors, and we had to force our way through a frantic crowd until our way diverged enough from the main routes for escape.

"I'm sorry", I said low enough that I might hope Vesija didn't hear me.

"It's not your fault."

I hurried by his side. "It is. I could have stopped Motsa."

"Then it would have been someone else. Perhaps even yourself." The man's gaze avoided my direction.

"Could I..."

"Perhaps. You are Jaan." He stopped in a sheltered underpass, but didn't look at me. "Yet you aren't a killer."

"Maybe I should be."

Vesija turned to me. Only his eyes remained visible in the shadow, yet the expression therein was tender. His huge arm wrapped around my shoulder and pulled me against him. Thunder rumbled in a circle around us, and the accompanying lightning created grim silhouettes of the many towers.

Far off, someone screamed in agony. Or the wind pushed through a flute-like crevice in the town's structures. Though the particles saturated the air, on the walkways no sandy residue had formed; the pieces of the terrible ancient dust seemed to hate the contact of their brethren and refused to remain still.

"The storm is getting worse", Vesija said.

I nodded. "Can we make it all the way to the wagon and then to the Seven Corners?"

A shade rushed past us at the speed of a prodigious athlete, but he was gone before I even realised.

"We should run too", the chirurgeon said and withdrew the protection of his arm from me.

A whirlwind of frantic exodus had engulfed the stall district. Meagre belongings struggled to fit into overburdened wagons, and guns left their holster to empower desperate pleas. Nobody had the patience to answer any questions, and we had no time to ask any either.

In spite of the impending end, the chirurgeon's wagon had remained untouched in its secluded stable. While the hibernating wagon stirred awake with painful slowness, I kept watch at the gate, even if any assailant could have reached near touching distance before being visible in the now eerily fog-like dust storm.

"Is breathing this dust dangerous?" I shouted to Vesija.

"It might be."

"You don't know?"

The man finished his labour to resuscitate the wagon, which shook itself with obvious reluctance. "If this dust was intended to harm humans, it could just be gas that turns into potent acid inside the lungs. It's not breathing this dust what kills."

I took one final glance out of the gate and went to Vesija. "Do you expect the Plague to hit us?"

"No. If it does, not even the natural Iwunian immunity will be a guarantee of safety."

He turned towards the wagon, but I grabbed his arm. "Vesija... Once we... I might..." I lifted my eyes and tried to communicate the wordless desperation with only my gaze.

His arms saved me from having to bare my soul verbally by embracing me in a tight hug. The man guided me inside the wagon, where I became acutely aware of how gritty my scalp was. At least my collar was too tight to let any of the sandy residue slip inside.

The chirurgeon rushed to the controls and pulled the nerves. The wagon was sent into a reckless gallop through the doors and into the raging storm. Vague shapes of buildings passed us by, and with our speed, it was a miracle we didn't smash into anyone on our way out of the narrow dockside streets.

Our velocity was too much for my liking in the present weather conditions. I clung to the driver's seat to stay on my feet. "Can you find our way?"

"These hills don't exactly move."

"But those do." I pointed at the sharp boulder-shapes of eremilith peeking through the swirling wall of unhealthy silver-glint. "There must be dozens of them."

Vesija remained silent, and we speeded past in between a pair of the ancient stone-creatures.

My suit, bracing against the cupboards and floor, reacted faster than I could consciously process. The wagon's legs had collapsed underneath the cabin, which continued forward, flipping over. For a long moment, I was weightless. My stomach had enough time to lurch just before I smashed into the ceiling.

Sharp pain guided me back to awareness. I woke with a strained gasp, my whole body shuddering with alchemical vigour. The cabin was strangely upside down, and the shelves had vomited their contents into piles of glass and acrid liquid.

My eyes focused with frustrating tardiness, until I saw the large form of Vesija sprawled beside me. To my relief, he stirred and sat before I managed to make sense of my own limbs. Outside the cracked front window, the world ––or the ground and swirling above–– was the wrong way up.

"Vesij––"

"Don't breathe!" He grabbed my hand and pulled me up with him. We were out of the topsy-turvy cabin into the relative calm in the howling chaos at the bottom of a ravine. Our wagon twitched its curled legs, and thick ichor seeped from lacerations in the skin exposed between the chitin.

"There was no canyon here..." The man spun to me and grabbed my shoulders. Intense evaluation filled his gaze. "Are you alright, Neru?"

My eyes jumped first to his face and then to myself, but there was no sign of the disease on either of us or our clothes.

"I'm fine." At least I thought so. My mind was clear, and I only felt faint throbbing on my neck and shoulders. I nodded at the vehicle behind the man. "Why was the wagon afflicted but not us?"

The agonised jerks of the vehicle had mercifully abated, but little remained of its soft tissue undamaged. Meanwhile the cabin had cracked like an egg.

"I don't know." He turned to look at the wagon and sighed, his shoulders slumped. "Regardless, its journeys are ended. We need to head back to Hitunna and try to find some shelter, if we can."

"No. I need to get to the Tower. This is my fault. I could have stopped this."

"Don't be obdurate." The Iwunian turned and grabbed me again to emphasise his words and desperate expression. "When the lightning storm truly begins, nothing will survive on the surface."

"I have this suit."

"It's not enough, Neru. We tried and failed. It's not our fault, if we give up now."

"That's not how blame works!" My mind brimmed with impotent arguments to justify my destructive self-pity, but it wasn't the occasion for a debate on moral causality. "You are right in that you should return."

"Neru..."

"No. I must go. It's my dut–– purpose."

'Finally.' The word swam through my thoughts. 'You are a slippery little girl.' The distinct intonation of the Lady of the Vad rang inside my ears. 'Narcotics and velocity were a smart enough ploy, but your injury forced this suit of yours to prioritise anaesthesia over addling your conscious thoughts.'

'Injury?' I tried to say, but my larynx failed to obey me. The intercourse between the Lady and myself wasn't truly a conversation, but my recollection interpreted the exchange of wordless concepts as a coherent dialogue. There was no separation between us: the Lady spoke with my internal voice.

The chirurgeon stared at me, as his worry morphed into puzzlement.

'Your neck was broken in two places', the Lady said. 'Do not worry yourself. Your suit protected you from the worst of the fall and reroutes your nervous impulsed through itself.'

In spite of the claim, my heart jumped inside my chest. 'But Vesija––'

'Was kept in place by the seat.' My arms spread open, and the tips of my fingers tingled as if blood flow was returning to them. Around us, the rage of the storm turned into a still fog, which then fell like ashen snow at our feet. We found ourselves in the middle of a small sphere of tranquillity in the broiling cataclysm.

For a moment Vesija stood in place, too astonished to note my bizarre behaviour, but soon his gaze returned to me. "Neru, what is going on?"

"I, the emissary of the Vad, have commandeered this vessel." The posh accent formed by my lips was particularly thick even for me.

Instead of doing his utmost to save from this divine parasite, the Iwunian knelt on the hard ground. "We were made to speak your name."

"That you were." The veins in my hands glowed through the skin and glove, conjuring the stark shadows of the bones, as they were pressed on the side's of Vesija's head. "I need you, if for nothing else, than to motivate my host. I need her honed instincts in my voluntary service."

Vesija lifted his head. A strange look tinged his expression. Not of doubt, but of worry similar to that.

'What about my neck?'

'It's broken, but I don't recommend taking off the suit to check. I am able to start it's repair.' Sizzling ache sparkled through the numbness of my spine. 'There. It shall take a few weeks. While I'm at this...' The scintillating sensation flared deep inside my abdomen. 'A foundation for later alterations.'

'Do you mean––'

'Oh yes.' My hand came to rest on Vesija's shoulder. "Dear servitor, do get up."

Through the shuddering of my breath, I realised I had control of my body again. Any relief remained short-lived. The Lady's presence lingered like a web of cold slime around my consciousness. 'Let us proceed with the hunt.'

Though the dusty wind died at our passage, beyond my arms' reach the visibility remained abysmal.

'What caused this storm?' I asked.

'I did.'

That took my thoughts aback. 'Then if you control such weapons already, why do you need me?'

'My senses in the carnal realm are dim. And should I be able to control just anyone, I only press buttons, so to speak; I can't pull the strings. I need your abilities and skill-set.'

'And Vesija?' I glanced at the man drudging through the ankle-deep dust behind me. 'Is he a mere hostage, or do you have a plan for him also?'

'Of course there is a plan for him. Why do you think I'm rearranging your insides?'

In spite of the anaesthesia, I felt a shudder creep up my back. 'Was this all preplanned, me and Vesija... meeting each other?'

'Not arranged. Guided, perhaps. Our influence wanes rapidly further away from the Pylon. You two would have fallen for each other, even had it not been conducive to our designs.'

'And those are..?'

'To enjoin the main two servitor strands together. With in utero adjustment, any non-optimal allele recombinations can be avoided.'

'I shan't subject myself as your test subject.'

'Do not kid yourself. You, and your whole race, have always been one.' My mind remained still for a moment. 'But do know that the affection between you two is genuine.'

I chose to believe the claim against all evidence. As I looked over my shoulder, the man returned my smile. I fell back to his step and clutched his hand in mine.

After a moment, Vesija asked: "Does the Lady know, where Teuna is?"

Sensations like sharp laughter rattled in the depths of my ears. The voice didn't laugh at Vesija, but my own ridiculous jealousy about him having that particular woman in his mind.

"She is over the lake, with some of her companions", I said with peculiar conviction. "The storm let them through."

'A vanguard', the wind murmured in my ears. 'To take brunt of the blowback.'

'Don't you fear that she might join Motsa, on the side of the Bellicose Measure?'

'That is against the will of our adversary.'

'So he'll let his tools fight among each other?'

'That was planned to happen eventually. We only sped up the process.'

'Oh, that's the reason for this storm. To isolate everyone.'

'Your mind might move as slow as it does for mortals, but at least it's not dull, Nerutaara.'

'I see–– What's that?'

The faint shudder of the ground strengthened enough to force me to stop in order to stay on my legs. I held Vesija, and he held me. Even though I had the better balance, my heart welcomed the reassurance granted by his sturdy frame.

The distant rumble grew into an enraged roar of the stone all around us, which drowned the storm itself. I was flung upwards, but my shaking feet remained firmly on the ground. Above, the swirling of the argent mists dissipated from the way of a pristine blue sky and the looming shadow of the mountain.

'Bellicose–– What have you..? No!' In a whisper that sizzled with wrath as thick as the bygone storm, the Lady answered my unuttered question: 'The Pylon walks.'