The sun was barely rising when the house erupted into lively movement and voices. My alarm rang but I ignored it, pulling the covers over my head until Dad shook me awake. We had a flight to Paris, but it was too early to be moving all about the place. I liked Paris, but this—this was too much.
We had six hours before the flight, so I couldn't understand the fuss and urgency Mum and Dad had. Still, I got up, bathed, brushed my teeth, and packed everything I could possibly need in my entire life. Mum made sure of that, stuffing in three books I wasn't ever gonna read for good measure.
Dad's car horn blared from outside. "C'mon, ya bunch o' slow pokes! We're gonna miss the flight!"
Mum sighed and turned to me with a weary smile. "Go on and zip the luggage, pack yer things. I'll go tell your father tae shut up." She kissed my forehead before leaving, her voice fading as the door closed.
"Gerald, quiet down! You're waking the neighbours!"
I struggled with my luggage, zipping it up with a grumble. Dragging the thing felt like pulling a dead body. It barely budged.
"Well, we don't wanna miss the flight, love! Like I always say, 'early is on time, and on time is late.' Where's this boy now? Angus!"
"I'm comin'!" I groaned, pulling the massive suitcase through the doorway. "Dad, I think I need help with this one! Mum packed too much!"
I heaved the thing, finally giving up as I looked back into my room. Only… it wasn't my room.
Instead of the familiar hallway that led downstairs, I was surrounded by cobbled stone walls. I turned toward the door again, but instead of seeing Dad and Mum rushing me out the door, they were waving goodbye, fading into the distance.
"Mum! Dad!" I ran toward them, but the room seemed to stretch, pulling them further and further away no matter how fast I moved.
Then, the light hit me, sharp and blinding. I gasped awake, the pale morning light creeping through the narrow slits of the tower room's walls. My cheek was wet. I wiped it dry and swung my legs off the bed, landing on the carpeted floor.
I look around the empty room and realize how alone I really am. I want to cry, give up and beg to God to send me back home. I bury the thought and pace the empty space and let time pass me by.
Glancing at the small, narrow window, I saw the sprawling capital below. The city, with its bustling streets and vibrant life, seemed a world away from my cold, isolated prison. I muttered to myself in frustration, "What in the blazes did they think I'd be doin' here, aye?" The frustration in my voice evident. The words of the Queen still stung sharply in my memory, each one a harsh reminder of how screwed I am because of Tobu.
I finally look out from the slits in the wall that made up my window. I overlook brilliant polished granite towers, fat at different sections of their length that spit out from the torn open earth that makes a canyon out of it. My tower is high. I don't hear the folks prattling about the high-rise. Beyond the Spine, spread out like a tapestry, was Bram—the surface city with its colorful rooftops, bustling markets, and winding cobblestone streets. Even from this height, I could see the vibrant life below, the movement of carts and people, the painted facades and bright awnings. It looked alive in a way the sterile Spine didn't. This really is a beautiful place. I just don't belong in it.
Footfall fills the hallway. There is a clank of keys and out spills the Queen and broad plated guards, not so decorated like a peacock now. I don't even look at her in the eyes, or speak, or move under her judgment.
"I trust that you are well, boy." She looks around the room and gestures to a guard besides her. They run to get a chair and with a fancy wave she sits.
Her eyes drift over me slowly, taking in every detail. She tilts her head slightly, studying my clothes with an expression somewhere between curiosity and disdain.
"Those garments," she says, gesturing vaguely at my hoodie and jeans. "They are... peculiar. Foreign craftsmanship, I presume?"
I glance down at myself, suddenly self-conscious. "Aye, from where I'm from. Nothin' special."
"On the contrary," she replies, her tone measured. "They appear quite deliberately constructed. The stitching, the material... unlike anything our weavers produce." She pauses, letting the weight of her observation settle. "If you truly are from another world, I suppose this is proof enough of that claim. For now."
I swallow hard, unsure if that's a good thing or not.
She leans back in her chair, dismissing the topic as quickly as she raised it. "Tell me. About this... Urd of yours and what purpose you have being here."
I try and lose myself looking at the crowd as I answer. "I dinnae know how tae tell ye about it. Can definitely tell ye that comin' here wasnae intentional. I'm stuck here."
"Tobu of Sundown says you are valuable. Why?" She keeps pressing.
I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her words press down on me. "Valuable? I dinnae know what she's thinkin', but I'm just me, aye? Nothin' special about me." My voice trembled slightly, but I tried to keep my eyes locked on the view outside. The city sprawled beneath me.
The Queen tilted her head, eyes sharp, calculating. "Perhaps I misjudged Tobu's character. She is not one to waste words, nor is she one to make foolish claims. You must have something of worth, or she wouldn't have waged this gambit on you."
I clenched my fists, feeling the frustration build. What could I say? I barely understood how I got here, let alone why Tobu had stuck her neck out for me. "Look," I muttered, trying to keep the annoyance from my voice, "I never asked tae be dragged into any of this. One moment I was at home, and next thing I know, I'm in this... place."
The Queen leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. There is no sympathy in them. "I have no patience for riddles, boy. What is it about you that warrants my attention? Why should I not have you executed right here, right now? After all, you're a foreign body."
I stiffened, my heart pounding in my chest. I glanced at the guards, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, ready to act at her command. "I... I dinnae know what makes me special," I began, trying to stall for time, "but if Tobu thinks I'm worth somethin', then maybe I am. Maybe I can learn tae be. Just give me a chance tae prove it. I just need time."
She raised an eyebrow. "Prove it? And how, pray tell, do you intend to do that?"
I hesitated, unsure of what to say next. "I—I want tae learn more. I dinnae want tae be a burden. If ye give me a chance, I'll find a way tae show ye."
For a long moment, she didn't respond, just stared at me like she was trying to peel away my layers and see what lay underneath. Finally, she stood, her chair scraping the stone floor as she rose. "You have one week," she said coldly. "If, by then, you have proven to be a bad investment... I will have no further use for you."
With that, she swept from the room. She stops and holds her hand to one guard, wagging her finger. "You will not be guarding me, but him." She points to me. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid for a week. You can do at least that."
She leaves behind the knight who fills the doorway with his frame. He slowly pivots from one foot to another to face me. His armor clatters awkwardly, filling the air like a robot.
He looks down at me, sighing behind his helmet welded into a visage of a frog gasping for air. He was covered head to toe in thick dark grey armor, obese and carved with cascading grooves. His round armored belly was decorated with various symbols. Despite the heavy everything about him, something tells me that behind all those layers wasn't just more fat. He walled off the entrance with his size.
"May I leave?" I ask hesitantly.
He slowly steps aside, letting his movements drag out more than what was needed in protest.
---
I stepped out from the room and into the hall, the air cool and dry, the heavy footsteps of the knight behind me echoing off the stone walls. The other towers loomed above me, and through the narrow slits that passed for windows, I caught glimpses of the world outside. The towers rose from the cracked earth of a canyon that seemed impossibly deep, swallowing the ground far below.
The Spine. That's what this place was called. Towers made from thick, dark granite slabs shot up from the earth like the jagged teeth of some primeval creature. They stretched high, higher than I could have imagined, their immense size braced with rusty bronze supports and bolts that gleamed dully in the light. Stone bridges arched between them, connecting one towering monolith to another in a vast, interconnected web. And beyond the Spine, at ground level, sprawled Bram—the vibrant surface city with its tight alleyways, colorful rooftops, and bustling markets. Further below that, deep in the canyon's depths, was the Fold—a darker sprawl of buildings that clung to the canyon floor like barnacles, where miners and laborers made their homes in the shadows.
I took a step onto one of the stone bridges, its surface cool under my feet, and felt the faintest tremor run through it as the wind howled between the towers. My guard, the towering knight, followed close behind, his armor clanking with each step. I glanced back at him, half-expecting him to say something, but he only stared ahead, silent and imposing.
The Spine stretched endlessly around me. Each tower was covered in intricate engravings, and where the engravings faded or broke off, the stone had been painted with handprints. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them from the looks of it. Colors smeared across the grey stone like a violent rainbow. Reds, blues, yellows, and greens marked the spaces where the stone bridges met the towers, where people clearly reached to leave their mark.
I was blindfolded and tied before coming up here. "What is this place?" I muttered, more to myself than anyone.
The frog knight, surprisingly, answered in his gruff, deep voice. "The Spine. It holds the city together."
I raised an eyebrow but said nothing, my eyes traveling across the jagged landscape. I see it now. The canyon itself was like the spine of the world, split open and bleeding civilization from its wound. The towers rose from the depths of the chasm, some disappearing into the darkness of the Fold below, others piercing through the clouds above. I notice how empty this level is compared to those that populate the lower spires.
"I've never seen anythin' like this," I muttered. "Not even close."
The frog knight didn't reply this time, just kept walking, his armor making a dull clatter against the bridge. His resentment was palpable—every step, every sigh seemed to say he'd rather be anywhere else than babysitting me.
As I walked, I found myself wondering what it was like down there, in Bram. The colorful streets, the noise and energy of it. The contrast between the wealth and emptiness of the Spine above and the vibrant chaos of Bram at surface level was stark.
"Can I go down there?" I asked, gesturing to Bram below.
"No," the knight replied simply, his tone flat with irritation. "You're to stay in the Spine."
"Of course," I muttered. The Queen wanted to keep me under her thumb, and I wasn't about to argue.
I continued along the bridge, the wind pulling at my hair as I looked over the edge. Below, I could make out the streets of Bram, carts and stalls lining the paths, people moving about like ants. It was strange to be so high up, so distant from that world, like I was trapped in a different reality.
As we crossed another bridge, walking around the hundred meter wide tower, I noticed a small group of people gathered on the platform ahead. They were clustered near the base of one of the towers, where the stone was covered in more painted handprints. One of them, a man with a brush in his hand, was adding his own mark to the wall. He glanced up as we approached but quickly returned to his work, dipping his hand in paint and pressing it against the cold granite.
I slowed my pace, watching as he worked. "What are they doin'?" I asked the knight.
"Tradition," he replied curtly, as if even answering was a chore. "Everyone leaves a mark when they come here. To say they were part of it."
I stared at the man's handprint on the wall. It was bright red, standing out starkly against the grey stone. It felt almost defiant, like a rebellion against the cold, unfeeling architecture of the Spine.
I asked if we could at least go lower and see more people in the Spine. He didn't say no, but he didn't say yes either. I went either way to what seemed like the residential area, and the bridges seemed more alive as vines stretched this far. Kids played, elders strolled telling their millionth tales. On a bench was a man, head deep into his book.
Then a gust of wind rushes through and rips a page from the book and it escapes him. I catch it on reflex, looking at the page mentioning something about imbuing an item to heat up with a charge.
The man rushes to me with a hand outstretched. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out, snatching the page from my hand with a quick motion. "Thanks, boy," he muttered, barely glancing at me before crumpling the page slightly in his grip. His eyes darted around the area like a mouse searching for predators.
His gaze caught on the towering knight behind me, and he stiffened, his face going pale. "That's... quite the escort ye got there, lad," he said nervously, his voice dropping lower.
Curiosity got the better of me. "What's on that page, then?" I asked.
He stiffened even more, giving me a sharp look. "Nothin' you needn't worry about."
I frowned. "Seems like more than nothin'. I saw somethin' about heatin' up an item, maybe magic? Is that what it is?"
The man's eyes widened for a second before narrowing again. He quickly shuffled on the bench, clearly uncomfortable. "We don't use that word here," he muttered under his breath, lowering his voice so much I had to lean in just to hear him properly. His eyes flicked nervously to the knight again.
"What word? Magic?" I pressed, raising an eyebrow.
"Aye, but keep yer voice down, ya bloody fool!" he hissed, glancing around again. "Folk don't take kindly to that word."
"Why not?" I asked, crossing my arms. "Where I'm from, it's just what it's called. Nothin' wrong with sayin' it."
The man sighed, his shoulders slumping as he looked at me more seriously. "Look, here we call it 'craftin'.' Try yer best to learn the word instead. It ain't magic like the old tales, not somethin' wild and uncontrollable. But callin' it that? Makes people uneasy, around these parts especially." He looks around at the strolling people, then back at the imposing figure of the knight. "And with company like that, best ye watch what ye say."
I furrowed my brow, my curiosity growing. "So, it is magic, though, right? Like, ye can imbue things, use spells, that sorta thing?"
The man nodded slowly, his expression guarded. "Aye, somethin' like that. But it's best ye don't go askin' folk about it. Not everyone's as open as me, and certainly not with..." He trailed off, his meaning clear as he glanced once more at the armored figure looming behind me.
I glanced over the edge of the bridge, down toward Bram. "How do people get down there? Tae the surface?"
The man followed my gaze. "Lifts, mostly. Stone platforms in the towers. Ye just speak where ye want to go—'surface' or 'ground level' for Bram. 'Down' for the Fold, though why anyone'd want to go there..." He shook his head. "Just don't say 'down' unless ye mean it. Those lifts don't stop easy."
I nodded, filing that information away. "And they just... listen tae what ye say?"
"Aye, crafted that way. Ancient work, it is. Just be careful—sometimes they're stubborn, sometimes they're too eager." He shifted uncomfortably, clearly eager to leave.
I nodded in understanding, my mind racing. So they did have magic, even if they didn't call it that. And now I knew how to get to Bram.
Then I'm hit with an idea and turn to frog face. As the man hurried off with his page, an idea smacked me square in the face. Craft—whatever they called it here—was my ticket. If I could learn it, maybe I wouldn't be so bloody useless. I could show the Queen I wasn't just dead weight.
I spun around to the knight, grinning like an idiot. "Oi! I should learn that craft, aye? Imagine it—me, flingin' fire or somethin'! Could actually be useful!"
The knight stared at me through his helmet, dead silent. Then, in the driest voice imaginable, he muttered, "No."
I blinked. "What? Why not?"
He sighed, the sound rattling through his armor like stones in a tin can. "You'd burn your face off."
I stared at him, mouth open. "I wouldnae—"
"You would."
"How do ye know?"
"Trust me," he said, his voice heavy with bitter experience. "I've seen it."
I groaned, following after him. "Ach, ye big clankin' pessimist!" I stopped and looked around the place as the wind still billowed. "Where are ye goin'?"
He didn't answer, instead gesturing for me to follow him, striding ahead of me, his heavy footfalls echoing. His focus was straight ahead, his entire posture screaming that he'd rather be doing literally anything else. My heart pounded in my chest at a dangerous idea I wanted to try, as I glanced at the narrow bridge spanning the canyon below. It stretched like a rope between the towers, far above Bram where I wanted so desperately to reach. I couldn't wait any longer.
Without a second thought, I turned on my heel and bolted.
My runner shoes slapped against the stone as I ran as fast as I could, heart racing. The knight's heavy armor clattered behind me, and I heard him bellow in frustration, "Boy! Stop!"
I didn't stop. I sped across the bridge, weaving through a few surprised passersby, and aimed for the nearest door. A quick glance back told me the knight was gaining, his massive frame moving with surprising speed despite the clunky armor. I needed to lose him—fast.
I darted through an archway, rushing into the interior of another tower. My eyes scanned wildly for any way down. There it was—the lift the man had mentioned. A stone platform in the corner of the room, ancient and carved, with no levers or controls, just strange sigils etched around it. I rushed toward it. I turn back to see the metal golem of a man stomp around the corner.
"Ah! Down!" I yelled reflexively and remembered. "Damn it, wait! Surfa-"
The lift jerked beneath my feet, and with a sharp jolt, it began to descend. I barely had time to catch my breath before I realized it was moving much faster than I anticipated. I peeked over the side, watching the levels blur past as the lift plummeted. Bram should be coming up soon—the colorful surface city I'd seen from above.
But the lift didn't slow.
"Stop! Stop!"
Nothing happened.
I gripped the railing as the lift continued its mad dash downward, and my stomach twisted in knots. I watched helplessly as the bright colors of Bram flashed past—a glimpse of painted buildings, market stalls, people—and then it was gone, swallowed by the darkness as the lift plunged deeper into the canyon.
I was shooting past the surface, past Bram entirely, heading down into the Fold.
The blur of levels slowed suddenly coming to an abrupt stop as the lift crashed into the ground below with a loud crack. The stone beneath my feet splintered, and my knees buckled, barely catching myself before I toppled over I brought myself up.
"Great," I muttered, wincing at the sight of the shattered lift. "Guess I'm not goin' back that way."
I limped off the platform and into what looked like a much darker, grimmer part of the city. The Fold. The towering structures of the Spine still loomed overhead, impossibly distant now. Down here the air felt different—cooler, damper, tinged with the smell of something dead and sweat. The streets were cramped, buildings stacked haphazardly against the canyon walls. Less light made its way down here, and everything felt oppressive, claustrophobic.
This wasn't where I wanted to be. I'd overshot completely.
I needed another lift to get back up to Bram, but I had no idea where to find one.
I trudged down a cramped alleyway into an open space where a weak ray of light cast down on a bench. Atop it sat an old man, smoke bending lazily from a pipe.
"'Scuse me, sir, where am I?" I asked.
"Bram town, boy. Yer lost?" He took his pipe out of his mouth.
I shook my head. "This isnae Bram. I saw Bram from above—it was colorful, bright. This is..."
The old man chuckled darkly. "Ye're in the Fold, boy. Bram's up there." He pointed upward with his pipe. "This is Bram Town, here's where folk like me end."
I nodded slowly. "How do I get back up tae Bram?" I pointed up.
He followed my finger, then looked back at me. "A fee." His lips stretched as he eyed my clothes. "Not from Vatu, are ye, boy? Definitely ya got the coin to get der'."
I left quickly without direction, my heart sinking.
That's when I noticed a woman leaning casually against a wall. Around my age, it looked like. Her eyes caught mine, and she offered a sly smile.
"Excuse me," I said, trying to sound polite despite the growing tension in my gut. "D'ye know how I can get back up tae Bram?"
She pushed off the wall, walking toward me with a graceful sway in her worn colorful jumpsuit. "Of course," she looked me up and down, "but it'll cost ye."
"Cost me?" I frowned. "I just need directions."
The woman's grin widened, looking around me. Before I could react, a group of boys—no older than me, if not younger—appeared from behind. I barely had time to register what was happening before they grabbed at me and brought me to the floor.
"Oi!" I shouted, struggling to break free, but they were quick and coordinated. In a matter of seconds, they had my shoes off, tossing them back and forth between them.
"These'll fetch a pretty penny!" one of them cackled.
"Those are mine!" I growled, trying to rise, but they easily shoved me back.
"Not anymore, matchstick," another boy snickered, stepping closer with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
Fueled by humiliation and anger, I fought back harder this time, breaking their hold. I flipped onto my back, kicking one of them square in the nose. He yelped, stumbling backward. I punched one and wrestled another off me. I quickly stood up barefoot.
I didn't wait. I bolted, my feet pounding against the pavement as I sprinted through the streets. But they weren't giving up. I could hear them behind me, their footsteps closing in fast.
I rounded a corner and nearly crashed into a wild-looking man, his hair messy and his clothes disheveled. He glanced at me, then at the boys chasing me, before stepping aside with an amused grin. "You better fight back, man!" he called after me, clearly entertained by the whole thing.
"Fight back?" I shouted, exasperated. "There's too many!"
He shrugged, looking at my feet then to the pair that carried my shoes. "Doesn't matter. What, ye gonna let 'em take yer trousers next?"
The boys were gaining on me. Heart pounding, I whirled around and faced the gang, bellowing an incoherent scream.
"Awright, ye want a fight? Come and get it!" I shouted.
The boys hesitated, surprised by my sudden bravado, but then they charged. I swung wildly, screaming, landing a few lucky punches, but they were tougher than I anticipated. They knocked me around, landing blows to my ribs and back, but I refused to go down without a fight. It went on like a drunken bar brawl. We all tired. Difference is, I barely let it show. They ran away with my shoes.
Panting and battered, I shouted at them through gritted teeth, "I'm Angus of House Caelan, son of Earth! Ye pissants!"
The wild-looking man laughed from the sidelines, clearly enjoying the spectacle, but when he heard me, he cocked his head in confusion. "What'd you just say? Urd?"
"Nah..." I spat. "I said Earth!"
"Sounds like Urd to me."
"Well, it's the accent. Bugger off, will ye."
The man sauntered over, clapping slowly. "Nice job. Name's Flint. You're not bad for a kid who cannae even say 'Earth' right."
I glared at him, still catching my breath. "I said it fine."
He snorted. "Sure ye did."
I scowled. "What d'ye want, anyway?"
Flint raised an eyebrow, as if I'd just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. "What I want? Well, I want to help ye, obviously. Could tell from the way ye ran that ye got some fight in ye. Shame about yer shoes, though." He gestured to my now bare feet.
"Thanks for pointin' that out," I muttered, wincing as the reality of my situation hit me. I'd lost my shoes, been beaten up, and now I was stuck in the Fold—deeper than I'd ever intended to go. All in all, it was shaping up to be a brilliant day.
Flint leaned in, eyes glinting with something like mischief. "Tell ye what. I'll teach ye a thing or two about craft. Might help ye avoid endin' up in this mess again."
I straightened, suspicious. "For free?"
He glanced down at my trousers, the grin widening. "Well, maybe not entirely free..."
I put my hands over my crotch. "Tryin' tae get in me pants?! No."
"No! I'm not a pervert! I'm tryin' tae get yer pants, ye daftie!"
"Me trousers?" I frowned, stepping back. "Ye're jokin'."
Flint's grin returns. "A deal's a deal, man. Trousers for knowledge. Seems fair to me."
I sighed, now pants-less too, my dirty army camouflage pants in Flint's hands.