Ricket falls to the floor, gasping for breath. His eyes are blown wide, and the veins that bulge through the whites pulse and burst open, bleeding over until his glazed-over iris is a fawny earth surrounded by an ocean of red.

  He cries out in agony, grasping for his throat, clawing at his neck and raking welts across the flesh. Another breathy scream escapes the child as his wrist suddenly fails, lolling against his collarbone before he nurses it through muddying tears. Desperately, he looks up and searches for Rivin through the fog.

  He's already rising from his seat, already rushing right over. “Ricket!” The older boy shouts, dropping to his knees beside him. “Ricket, what’s wrong?”

  They’d just been talking. He’d just finished telling them about the way up, the bunker with the charred skeleton he’d spat on.

  The boy's head throws back, his spine arching as his body seizes. He looks to be in an immeasurable amount of pain, his pupils blown wide, devouring what little colour remains outside of it, trickling from his tear ducts, his mouth. He’s growing quieter, the room reduced to choked sputters and the metallic chirp of the pickaxe crushing rock beyond the walls.

  “What the fuck?” Slink whispers, by their side in a moment.

  Chip too, who already has a rag. “Here.”

  Rivin takes it, folds it, and places it over the boy's forehead, nursing him while he gasps and cries. Ricket is on his back now, blinking blindly at the ceiling above, one hand clasped tightly in the raven-haired teen’s grasp, the other twitching against the tile before it’s scooped up by a palm minus several fingers.

  Slink. “Hey, it’s okay.” His voice is low. Soothing. His eyes are afraid. “Hang in there, buddy; it’ll pass.”

  Ricket doesn’t respond, only kicks out his right foot and braces his heel against the floor, toes curling against the soles of his battered boots, mouth stretched agonisingly wide but making no sound.

  The others have pushed to the back of the room, all but Sen who stands partway between and watches, arms crossed, head tilted. “What’s going on now?” he asks, voice clipped, a tad annoyed.

  “Leave it, Skyfat; he’s under a lot of stress.” Chip defends, glaring umber daggers.

  “Mental illness seems common down here,” the boy responds.

  “What do you expect?” Chip snaps back, “We’ve literally never seen the light of day.”

  Sen’s reply is muttered beneath his breath. It sounds like: “For good reason…”

  “You—” Chip starts.

  “Don’t,” Rivin says, resolute but quiet.

  It’s enough to earn Chip’s sneer and the eventual return of his attention to their writhing friend on the floor.

  “Is Ricket going to be okay?” asks Abi from the door, clinging tightly to her brother's side. Coel holds her close, tucks her in when Ricket coughs a fresh wave of ruby rain.

  “Yeah, for sure, kid,” promises Slink, stifling his nerves behind a brave smile, “we’ve dealt with this before. Don’t worry.”

  “Not like this,” Chip hisses beneath his breath. “Is he okay, Riv?”

  He isn’t sure, but Ricket has finally stopped moving enough to clear the rivers from his face, and Rivin wipes each away gently, calls out to him softly before shaking his head, looking up. “He’s not back yet.”

  “Should I get Roach?” worries Chip.

  Ricket shoots up, wheezing for air; the fog lifted from his lens, he shifts his head urgently, gaze sweeping quickly across the room. He can finally breathe again, and he gulps in fat bursts, feeling around his body with trembling hands—his wrist, his throat, his leg.

  “You're okay! You’re okay,” reassures Rivin, capturing his hand. “You're okay, Ricket. You’re here with us, remember?”

  Ricket glances over their faces, his own ghostly pale. “I-I couldn’t…” His lower lip trembles. “I wasn’t—”

  “Does it hurt anywhere?” Rivin checks his wrist over, finds nothing out of the ordinary.

  The boy shakes his head. “N-No… Only my head… My eyes, my throat.”

  “What happened?” Slink pushes, relieved but curious and leaning closer.

  “Give him space,” the oldest scolds, but no one really listens.

  "I... I don’t know. I couldn’t breathe. I-I felt…" His eyes drop. “I wasn’t me. I was dying, and then—” He pauses, looks down at his hand, curling and uncurling his fists, “—And then I wasn’t.” He swallows thickly and tilts his head up to stare at the ceiling. “I saw the sky.” His face softens. “It was so bright. I was in the sun.”

  “That’s freaky.” Slink leans back.

  “It’s just a dream,” provides Chip.

  “Oddly specific dream,” Slink follows.

  “They usually are,” says Rivin.

  “No one wants to entertain for even one second that he’s seeing the future?” Slink stands and dusts off his trousers. “No one?” His voice drops. “Mouse would’ve.”

  Chip’s scowl is immediate. “Mouse was a firm opposer of the future-seeing theory.”

  “You guys had theories on this?” Sen inclines his head.

  “Money.” Slink corrects. “We had money on this.”

  “It’s not possible!” The tallest declares, throwing up his hands. “We just escaped that fucking graveyard; he’s sick; we’re all probably sick!”

  Slink shrugs and aids Rivin in helping Ricket to his feet. “After what we just heard?” He looks to his dark-haired friend, “Anything is possible, right?”

  A quiet settles, broken only by the steady chime of the axe picking out a throne beyond the walls.

  Rivin swallows thickly. Somehow… Even he hadn’t quite wanted to believe it, but… Slink was right. He’d seen more peculiar things by now.

  He procures a bottle of water, unscrews the tab and offers it to Ricket, who sips it quickly, cringing at the taste in his mouth while Slink helps him back into his seat. “Did you see anything else?” He asks, holding the young boy’s shoulder.

  “It’s already foggy. There was a fire. Burned trees. Grass. Someone… talking.”

  “Who?”

  They all lean closer.

  Ricket shakes his head. “I-I don't know. I can’t remember.” He looks down at his lap. “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” Rivin presses his arm. “It’s okay. Don’t be sorry.” He straightens, combs a hand through the thick of his hair. “Rest, Ricket.”

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  “Wh-What about the decision?”

  “You need to sleep.”

  "N-No, but she said tomorrow, so-so we have to decide tonight!”

  “That's easy. Isn't it?” Chip cuts in. “If he’s seeing our future, that is.” He furrows his brows, frowns hard at the floor. “We go up, we die.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Slink corrects, “I heard that if we go up, Ricket dies.”

  “You’re an asshole.” Chip spits.

  “I’m just telling you what I heard!”

  “He wasn’t himself, you idiot. Did you even listen?”

  Slink holds his hands up to parley but argues regardless. “I fucking listened. Who’s to say he’s not like a floating head in a jar at this point?”

  “What the hell? What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Ricket, were you or were you not a floating—”

  Rivin slams his hand against the table. “Enough!” Quiet reigns once more. “You are right.” He sighs, tousling Ricket’s braids. “We do have a decision to make.”

  “We go up, we fucking die.” Chip emphasises.

  Rivin’s jaw twitches; he looks up from beneath the thick of his lashes, the pits beneath his eyes deep and bruised and desperate for sleep. “Yeah”, he starts, “but we make it up… right?” He fists his hands. “That's what she was asking us to decide. Where we’d rather die.” He draws a breath. “In the dark.” He looks to Ricket. “Or in the sun.”

  “You’re not seriously treating that episode as fact, are you?” Sen’s face is twisted and incredulous, disgusted. “You’re all insane!”

  “You have a lot of opinions for someone with no other options,” responds Rivin, grey gaze scathing and cold.

  Sen sneers, turns away. “Suit yourselves. He’s right in that you’ll definitely end up dead.”

  “We're all going to die.” Rivin follows, unafraid, “This is about picking the view.”

  “Idiots”

  “Was it a good view, Ricket?” Slink grins.

  Ricket smiles shyly. Sadly. Nods. “Yeah. It was.”

  “That does it.” Slink claps his hands.

  Chip gasps. “It most certainly does not.”

  “What, you want to get one of those gnarly animals burned into your arm?” Slink shoots back. “Be a buff, drunk Swill pup?”

  For a while, the blonde is still, his expression shifting with recognition. He’d forgotten about that. He drops his head. “I-It didn’t look that bad… Much better than whatever just happened to Ricket on the floor!”

  "The kid was seeing through space-time; I'm sure it's just the price of travel.” Slink teases. “The Swill get it.”

  “This is insane. Insane.” Chip paces. “When did things get so insane?”

  Rivin reaches for him, brushes his arm. “I know what she would choose, Chip.”

  The blonde turns to ice, eyes shifting like dials on a clock towards his companion. “Don't. That's not fair. You know it's not fair.”

  “And you know it’s true.” Slink accompanies.

  “She hated it down here.” Rivin smiles crooked and awkward.

  Chip’s eyes are filling with tears. “She’s dead, Riv. She doesn't get to want for or hate anything anymore.”

  The weight sinks back to Rivin’s chest, where it lives, where it grows. “I know that.”

  “Sh-She won't ever get to see…” His voice breaks. “She can't come with us.”

  Slink joins them, throwing his arm around the blonde boy’s back to drag him closer. “Buddy, she's already there. Waitin’ on us.”

  Chip shakes his head. “She's just ash.” His tears overflow. “Ash caught on the ceiling.”

  Ricket stumbles over, finds a hand to hold in each of his own. “She's not,” he whimpers, crying again. “She’s part of us.”

  “She's gone.” Chip crumbles. “She's gone.”

  Rivin catches him as his knees buckle, pulling the sobbing boy tightly into his arms. Slink joins, throwing his embrace around them both while Ricket catches himself in the middle, sandwiched between them, arms looped tight around Chip’s bony waist.

  Rivin feels the sting in his eyes. The burden. He lets it fall, lets it all fall free into his best friend’s shaking shoulder. “It’s okay—”

  “I'm so scared,” Chip wails. “I'm so scared all of the time.” He buries his face into Rivin’s neck. “I miss her!”

  “I know. I do too.” Rivin holds him tighter, stifles whatever sound lies trapped in his throat. He draws back, just far enough to grasp his friend's collar, to force their glassy eyes intact. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry she's gone—that we can't go back. Fuck, I’m so sorry we can’t go back.” Chip whimpers and drops his head again, but Rivin catches his cheek and gently pats it with his palm, holding his stare. “We've got to go forward, Chip.” He tries another smile on; it’s shaky and sad. “And the only way forward is down.”

  The blonde sniffles. “What if we don't make it?”

  “We've got to try. Mouse would want us to try.”

  The boy breathes in sharply. "You're gonna go anyway… aren't you?"

  Rivin's hand falls away. He doesn't answer.

  “She called you… her soldier.” Umber eyes lift, but they're heavy again, freezing over. “What does that make us?”

  He doesn't know what to say, only that his heart has dropped out of his ass and plunged right through the floor.

  Slink steps in to rescue him, raising one palm, “I fancy myself a jester.”

  Chips glances over. “You couldn't be anything else but a clown.”

  “Harsh." Slink sucks his teeth before sticking out his tongue. “We've got our oracle.” He moves on, ruffling Ricket's hair. Glances over their shoulders at Sen, who's rolling his eyes. “A foreign minister”

  “No way.” Spits the boy. “Your kingdom is trash.”

  “This fucking kid—” Slink huffs, glaring.

  “You've changed sides quickly,” Chip interrupts. “I thought you didn't trust her.”

  “She's nuts.” Slink confirms. “But I'm bored of this life. Let's try a new one. One with fucking ghost warriors.” He punches the air. Pow. Pow.

  “Are you all hearing yourselves? We've known her all of a month, and she led us into the damn Angel Sanctum! No one leaves that place, no one!”

  “But we did!” Slink hollers. “We did! And we fucking saved a bunch of people!” He gestures towards the children. “We did that, Chip!”

  “B-but Mouse—”

  “We were different then. We’re better now. We’ll only keep getting better.” Slink continues. “We wanted out, remember? We wanted things to change. We wanted our lives to start. That's why we chose Lav’s deal, that's why we went into Sector 8, and that's why Mouse—

  “Stop!”

  “Slink, ease up,” Rivin warns.

  “No, he needs to hear this. She'd tell him this.”

  “You don't know what she would have wanted!”

  “She would have wanted you to live, Towen.”

  Umber eyes flash wide. “D-Don't call me that!”

  “Then stop being like him!”

  Chip is speechless. “I-I…”

  Slink uses both hands to flatten out his hawk, panting now and red in the face. “Man, we made a promise. A deal. Everything was going to change. We were gonna change.”

  “I-I have changed.”

  “No, you haven't. You're still ringing that same bell. The one that tells you to hide.”

  Rivin is stunned into silence. Speechless as it all unfolds.

  Slink is a beacon. “We agreed to stop hiding. We chose a new life free from it when we chose these names. When we chose that deal.”

  Chip is losing confidence.

  Slink presses in. Not hard. Gently. “We're not abandoning her, Chip.” He finds the boy's shoulder, presses firmly. “We’re honouring that promise.”

  The blonde is quiet for a long and aching moment, his face taut with grief, but he doesn't argue any longer, doesn't shake away the hand that holds him. Instead, he pinches his eyes closed, forces out tears, and draws a shuddering breath in.

  They know then that he's recalling the moment, that peaceful night around the bonfire, their bellies full for the first time in weeks. The shedding of their names printed onto parchment paper and dispersed into flame. The vow they'd placed in new titles. Simple things only children might choose, attached to a promise that would last them a lifetime.

  Mouse had lifted the first cup, downed it in one shot and spat it up in another.

  They'd laughed for ages. Fallen asleep warm. Hopeful. New.

  Chip smiles, soft and small. Remembering. His eyes flutter open, and he hiccups once, wiping his nose with his fist and then nods, not trusting his words to not be sticky like his face.

  Slink grins. Squeezes him tighter. “We’ll do it together,” he promises, glancing at the others now. Rivin nods too, Ricket vehemently, and Slink looks back towards his friend. “No matter what happens, we’ll be together.”

  “What if—”

  “Even if we die, Chip.” For the first time that night, Slink's voice wavers beneath the pressure of sadness, the burden ahead, his lips pulling down and quivering. “We’ll still be together. We’ll still carry on the dream; leave it behind in everyone we save.”

  Sen scoffs. No one looks over.

  “It’s time for real change.” Slink continues, “We have to do this. We’re all liars otherwise.”

  “You really think we can?” Chip whispers back.

  Slink grins again, wider. “I think we’ve got to try, and I think we need you, Chip.” He gently punches the blonde’s arm. “You're pretty badass when you're not talking out loud.”

  The blonde snickers, shaking his head. “Asshole.”

  “Yeah,” Slink agrees. “Sometimes.”

  Rivin smiles; his heart returned to his chest. “We won't do this without you,” he promises, nudging the boy. “We can't.”

  “Really?”

  Rivin nods. “All or nothing.”

  Chip sucks in a breath and once more glances amongst the faces of his friends: the wide eyes of Ricket, still bloodshot and inflamed; the genuine kindness in Slink's bright expression; Rivin, by his side.

  He glances down at his hand, rings them once, and looks up. “Okay.” He breathes, “Let's do it.” His voice is still tight. “Let’s – let’s go with her.” Three faces grin back at him, and Chip can't help but to reflect, his lips lifting, their excitement contagious. “Let's go fucking die in the sun.”

  Slink fists the air. “Let's gooo!”

  The others join him.

  “Let's go die in the sun!”

  “Let's go die in the sun!!”

  “Let's go die in the suuuuun!!!”

  They break off into laughter, pushing and shoving, mindless and boyish for once. Chip is smothered in embrace, armpit and smell. Slink throws hands at the tin ceiling above them. Rivin is shaking his head, looking unimpressed but failing to hide the warmth in his eyes.

  Then finally, lost in the thick of it all, Ricket grins between them with red teeth, face stretched wide—painfully so—tears spilling cherry droplets down his cheeks, down his nose.

  Only Sen notices; only Sen sees that Ricket is staring right through them all, grinning behind a bruised lens of blooming fog.

  “Yes,” the child beams through new tears, lost and soft and in a voice so different from his own, so different from anything ever produced from a human throat. His smile splits the sides of his cheeks.

  “This is where it starts.”