It's my mother. Only she's changed.

The light travels in an odd way across her skin, picking up the outline of translucent scales. Her eyes, too, are strange—but it's hard to tell why. She remains where she is, standing just outside the door, Puka cradled in her arms. Tears spring to the corners of my eyes. My akhana bleats and squirms, kicking out until my mother releases him to dash to my side.

I'd been disconnected from him by the stalstone—which seems to disrupt more than just mirefallen abilities—and too distraught to allow myself to wonder what might've happened to him. Now, seeing him safe and returned to me, I'm overwhelmed by a combination of relief and confusion.

Heart pounding, fighting to hold myself back, I edge closer. Puka circles my legs, rubbing his antlers against me and making soft little grunting noises.

"Ma...mamun?"

She smiles softly.

"Well, yes and no."

The hairs on the back of my neck raise. That's my mother's voice, but it's not the way she uses it. The speech pattern, the inflections—all wrong.

"All of your parents are beast-eaters now," the imposter goes on, looking from me to the others behind me. Finally, I realize what's changed about her eyes.

It's the person behind them.

"All the former Rhaji and Chieftains. All subject to my control."

Pulling my mother's shakta from its sheath, they run the blade lightly, almost absently over her wrist, her upper arm, her clavicle, her neck.

"If you're unable to cooperate, I'm afraid it's they who will pay the price, and by their own hands. Because I could certainly never let harm come to any of you, but it's very important that you do as you're bid." Her brows knit together, lips turning down slightly. The picture of genuine concern, sympathy.

"It's a matter of survival for our nations, for our peoples. Do you understand?" They meet my eyes at that, searching them. Pressing the tip of the blade like a thoughtful finger to her tilted cheek.

Teeth clenched together, hands curled into fists and nails biting into my palms, I nod.

"Wonderful. I knew you would. Now that we have that settled, it's time you all got some rest. In the morning, we're going on a little trip."

"What do you mean a trip?" Demands Howla, stepping up beside me.

"You'll see soon enough. Now, Thrallin. Please take your medicine."

When he hesitates, she holds her arm forward to lay the knife against the soft flesh of her inner arm. "Please."

Feeling his eyes on me, I turn to look at him. He meets mine for a heartbeat, then flashes his gaze aside. To the table—where the green pills sit untouched. Taking a long, deep breath, he goes over to them, scoops up the bowl and dumps all four down his wolfish maw. His throat convulses as he swallows.

"Thank you so much. Now, please, be sure you all eat enough and drink plenty of water."

Howla sucks air through her teeth, staring with a wild eye as though she might try to lunge at her. But then the person puppeteering my mother shakes her head, chuckling softly.

"Good evening, all, and rest well. Enjoy your Joining night." Another gentle smile, and she turns—the beast-eater guards outside slamming the door shut in her wake.

None of us gets any sleep whatsoever.

Desperate for some kind of escape, I try—but I just end up lying awake in bed with Puka, silent as Howla and Saffryn attempt to cobble together an escape plan. Thrall listens, but says little. Though he doesn't naysay them, he doesn't seem to think much of our chances, either.

After all, I'm the only who'll be outside the Puppeteer's control—and my own ability is useless against them. I won't let myself be the reason my mother's hurt, or my father, or anyone else who doesn't deserve it.

Repeatedly, Howla and Saffryn try to rope the rest of us into it, even going after Oz—but he just cringes away, eventually fleeing to the bathroom. I feign sleep, while Rhetrien listens to their ideas one after another and explains all the ways in which each would fail.

By the end of it, Howla's convinced Rhetrien is actually an "enemy spy," and Saffryn's at least suspicious. I'm not sure what to think. All I can do is hope they're wrong, because once you're joined through the Artifacts, you're joined forever. The link between us hadn't fully set in yet, back in the labyrinth. Now it's blocked by stalstone, but it's there nevertheless.

All of us are so haggard and sleep-deprived that we devour the breakfast the guards shove through the door slat in the earliest hours of the morning. They come for us not long after—the Puppeteer in my mother's body and her ranks of Beast-Eater guards. At their forefront is Pash—eyes vacant, expression blank.

I'm forced to leave Puka behind yet again as we're made to dress and vacate the room. The moment we cross the threshold into the outer hall, the Puppeteer's power overcomes the others too. The guards help Saffryn transfer to her walking chair, which waits just outside the door and to the side. 

Externally, everyone’s silent and obedient as we march through the ancient halls, deeper and deeper into the mountain. But, finally free of the stalstone, the Artifact-forged link between my khejia and I begins to assert itself.

I don't notice it right away. At first, it manifests as a general sense of one another's emotions—or so that's what my mother told me a long time ago. I already sense those through the Web, but for the others, it's new.

"Can you...can you all hear me?"  Thrall's the first to reach out, projecting his inner voice into our minds. I know it's him immediately, instinctively, even without ever having heard him speak.

"Depths!" Curses Howla, pausing for a moment before projecting another string of expletives into our brains.

"Firstborn, why?" Interjects Saffryn. "Stop it."

"Sorry. Had to get that out."

We're all distracted as the procession takes a sharp turn—descending a stair towards a faint grayish light.

Awaiting us below is a long, dark tunnel, a set of ancient tracks, and one hand-powered cart with a lantern affixed to its front.

"There'll be another train here soon," says the Puppeteer, smiling wistfully. "We're going to reclaim it all. But until then—we make do."

Once we're all piled into the cart, a new "voice" breaks the silence.

"Rhetrien, I know you've been worried about me. But you don't have to be. I'm not in pain."

My eyes dart to the Puppeteer, whose expression remains unchanged, placidly benevolent. If their abilities are as much like mine as they seem, they can't actually read any of our thoughts. Therefore they shouldn't be able to pick up on what we say to each other through the Link, either.

"Oz!" Rhetrien's voice, now. "You're really not in pain? Can you still hear and see and—"

"My senses have changed considerably, but I have what I need. Hey, we've finally got something in common, now."

"Aside from our blinding wit?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm the Praxan here."

"Excuse me, but do either of you two happen to have any idea why we're being taken into the Dead City right now?"  Saffryn's voice, this time. 

"Why would we know?" Snaps Rhetrien. "Oh yes, I'm sorry. We're enemy spies. I almost forgot."

"No. Because you're both from Kolikai and we're headed into an ancient Kolikai city."

"Jhirabai is full of wonders," says Ozmanthas vaguely.

They bicker on, but I'm distracted, attention drawn to the Web. The closer we get to the Dead City—Jhirabai—the brighter it gets. That Ember I'd first sensed when we passed through the underground city on the proper train just days ago. 

"You sense it, don't you?"

I nearly jolt out of my skin, looking over to find the Puppeteer watching me.

"I'm not sure if you see it the way I do, but it's beautiful. Does it call to you?"

Jaw set, I shrug vaguely. Does it call to me? I can't look away from it, but—

The cart lurches to a stop as the tunnel opens up and the tracks come to an end. The others stream out onto the platform, shunting me along with them. Again we march. Out of the cart and into a huge chamber as decrepit as it is grand. Crystal-filled inlays of glyphs in the hard-edged, curling style of Kolikai dominate the upper part of the walls and high ceiling. Below are the remains of what had been small rooms, stalls, booths and balconies. Piles of dust and debris now lay where wooden structures once supplemented the stone.

Other than the lantern, which we've detached and brought with us, the violet glow of the lichen is the only light. But it's sparse and scattered in here, leaving much of the chamber in deep pools of shadow.

Our footsteps echo as we make our way across the station to the largest exit. Something moves in the darkness as we pass, and the Puppeteer's stolen voice rings out, sharp and commanding. "Nikessa, keep it back. Keep any creature you sense away from us."

"I think they can only control mirefallen and medicated beast-eater humans." I project the thought outward for the others to consider, hoping there's something we can do with that information.

"Yes," I say simply as I reach across the Web towards the unseen creature. Whatever it is, it's large—with twitching external fangs and vision that's fragmented and whirling. With a pulse command, I send it skittering away in the opposite direction.

We make it out a moment later, stepping through the arched threshold to find ourselves in a huge courtyard, carved out of a sort of plateau to look out over the rest of Jhirabai on the far end.

The broad drive leading down into the city is cracked, covered over in many places by lush growth—all of it waxy and dense, like the succulents they bring in from Solrath and Ariskol. All of it in shades of darkest purple, violet, and burgundy. Contrary to its moniker, the Dead City is teaming with life.

A distant part of me mourns that I can't stop to examine anything, to enjoy this chance to finally see it all up close. Mourns that I have to drive away every large and interesting creature whose attention we catch. But for the most part, I'm preoccupied with making sure I don't do anything that might anger the Puppeteer. 

It quickly becomes clear that we're headed straight for the bright and unknown Ember. We follow what once was a main road, now just a path with the least obstacles. Past crumbling houses, temples and monuments of dark stone dusted with violet light. Past towering sculptures, parks, gardens and groves gone feral.

Passing close by one of the many tall growths I'd taken for trees, I realize it's something more akin to a giant, branching fungus. Off in the unseen reaches of the “forest”, I sense the Ember of something I can't quite place. Too vibrant with intelligence to be any ordinary animal, but most definitely not human. I long to reach out to it, draw it nearer—but instead I repell it. I can feel its will pushing back against my influence, but it turns and flees nonetheless. Its many rows of legs carry it quickly away. Off in the distance, something issues a whooping call that sends a shiver down my spine.

"I hope you have a plan for the way back," I call up to the Puppeteer. "I can only keep doing this so long before I get exhausted and pass out." My exhaustion's been building on itself steadily, weighing on me as I repel yet another beast drawn by the noise of our passage.

"Oh, that won't be a problem," she says, smiling.

The Ember is close. Approaching another of the cavern walls, we come upon an enormous opening in the rock, ornately framed in roof-like stone overhangs, relief sculptures of the Firstborn, and more crystal inlay.

We pause just outside of it.

The Puppeteer turns to look at us. "Who feels the pull?" Their grip on the others eases, just enough for their true emotions to show on the faces of those who have them. But they give nothing away but anger.

All of them save Oz , who twitches before shooting forward across the stone, towards the opening.

"Ah, there we have it." 

 The Kolikai quivers and slows as the Puppeteer retakes control. Then we all continue forward together.

At first, I think we've stepped into a broad, curving hall. But the wall ahead of us is...odd. Made of interlocking pieces of glyph-etched stone shot through with veins of indigo crystal.

No. Not crystal. Bonechrys. The lantern's weak light catches it, revealing iridescence and the flecks of silver and black suspended within. That's when I realize that we're not in any kind of corridor, but another cavern—a cavern occupied almost entirely by something enormous and articulated. Something with an Ember of incredible power burning at its heart.

Something that can only be a Sentinel.