She waited for the worms.
For the whispering chorus that had woven songs through her skull since her arrival in the City. Nothing. No voices, no ardent outcry. She listened—inner ear attuned to that constant, maddening scrape scrape scrapes against her skull and the tender meat within—but heard only the distant hush of circulators. Something foreign and chemical clung to her palate: bitter, faintly floral. Sedative.
They’ve been silenced, she realised with a weak flutter of relief. She was left with only the quiet toll of her own pulse hammering inside the ache.
Bee tried to rise. A gloved palm pressed gently against her sternum, weight enough to caution but not restrain.
“Easy, My Lady,” Vashante murmured, voice pitched low, as though any louder sound might splinter Bee’s head outright.
The room wheeled in slow, nauseous circles. Colours smeared; light stabbed. Bee forced her lids half-closed until the spin eased. Her thoughts felt bruised, soft-edged—concussion fog. Yet beneath the fugue, she sensed a strange emptiness where the worms had lived, a hollow cavity quiet as snowfall.
When she could focus, she found Vashante’s face leaning close—helm removed, eyes clear with their deep worry. Relief bloomed warm in Bee’s ribs, so swift it hurt: She’s here. She saved me.
A few heartbeats later, she spotted the other figure. On the far side of the pallet, the Wire-Witch moved between two glassy consoles, titanium-nailed fingers dancing over panels of cold light. Her skull glimmered green and ghostly in the monitor glow.
Bee’s lips tightened. She flicked a glance toward Vashante, then back to the Witch. “Does she… know?”
The words rasped out dry as parchment, but the meaning was clear. Vashante’s gaze flicked towards the Witch. She answered without turning.
“Your knight and I have spoken. We have come to an arrangement.” Her tone carried iron beneath the ice.
Bee swallowed, the action sandpaper rough, and tried to measure the new distance between the two women. Whatever pact they had forged, it held—for now.
The Wire-Witch lifted a slender instrument from a tray, its needle of red glass catching the pallid light. The chill in her voice thawed by a fraction.
“How do you feel, Bee?”
Bee opened her mouth—and paused. She searched her body: head pounding, limbs leaden, throat lined with dust.
“Like the City ran me over,” she muttered.
The Witch approached. With careful, almost maternal precision, she set the glass rod under Bee’s tongue, confusing the young Lady and holding it there while counting under her breath. Next, the Witch pressed two fingers to the inside of Bee’s wrist, skull downturned, measuring an unseen rhythm. A broad cuff of fabric and woven silver slipped about Bee’s upper arm next; a hidden bladder tightened, released, tightened again, recording pressures in silent glyphs on the nearby screen. Each action was precise, clinical—so starkly mundane it felt alien amid bone corridors and living stones.
Vashante watched, shoulders taut but permitting. Bee felt the knight’s free hand rest against her wing, a steadying anchor as the cuff relaxed with a soft sigh of air.
“Your temperature is high but falling,” the Witch said finally, setting the strange equipment aside. “Pulse steady, blood pressure recovering. The infestation in your skull is treated—not flushed, not excised. There will be nausea, perhaps fugitive echoes, but they will pass as your regenerative augmentations break down what remains of the parasites.”
Bee’s brows knit. “You killed them?”
“It was a simple pharmacological treatment,” the Witch corrected. “For now, you must mend.”
Bee reclined, eyelids heavy. The room’s chill bit less fiercely now, though sweat still pooled under her shoulder blades and the membranes of her wings. She caught Vashante’s gaze—concern tempered with something gentler, pride or gratitude—and felt her own heart swell despite the ache.
The Witch straightened and at last met Bee’s eyes through the hollow sockets of her skull.
“Time is of the essence. We must speak of what comes next.”
Bee closed her eyes, listening to the muted hush of pumps and Vashante’s slow breathing beside her. The pain remained, but it was honest pain—no chorus, no city voice, only herself. Within that ache, a fragile, startled relief unfurled: a quiet place, her mind. She could be herself again. She could think freely.
And within the hush, she planted her first clear thought like a seed in that quiet cavity.
Bee drew air in slow, deliberate draughts—three in, three held, three out—trying to winnow the tremor from her lungs.
Am I truly ready? The hollow in her mind where the worms had once cried felt too quiet, like a room stripped for mourning.
Another glance at Vashante: the knight’s mechanical features were pinched with fatigue, yet she managed a small, lopsided smile meant only for Bee. Warmth pooled behind Bee’s ribs. She let the same smile return, faint but honest.
The hush between the three of them stretched, taut as spun glass, until Bee broke it.
“You want me to do what we talked about,” she said, voice quiet but firm. “You want me to speak to Acetyn.”
The Wire-Witch inclined her head.
“Events continue around us. A confrontation with the Pilgrim is now inevitable. If we are to have the City’s answer, it must be now.”
Bee’s gaze dipped. Only then did she really see the twin coils of tubing arcing from the gravity armature—one into her forearm, another nested beneath her clavicle via needle. Cool liquid trickled with each beat. She raised a hand, fingertips grazing the lines, but stopped short of tugging them free. Bee then regarded her cybernetic hand, woven of her own mastery of deadly phage.
Vashante shifted closer.
“You are not obliged to do this,” she said, low and earnest. “If you choose to refuse, we will find another way.”
Bee shook her head. “No. This is the only way.” She exhaled once, steady and certain. “I want to.”
The Witch said nothing—only watched, skull an unreadable ivory mask—but Bee thought she noted a subtle easing of those shoulders. She looked from the Wire-Witch to her knight and back again.
“Besides,” Bee continued, voice strengthening, “It’s about time we learnt what’s really going on.”
The journey back to the Wire-Witch’s sanctum was a blur of faltering steps and steadied palms. Bee leaned on Vashante’s arm, plated feet skidding on bone-slick floors while the Basilica’s lights guttered overhead. By the time they slipped through the baroque doorway, Bee’s breath rasped as fresh sweat prickled beneath her plates.
The Witch gestured toward the reclining couch—its hide still stretched drum-tight, silverline sockets winking in the half-light. Bee, unaware of the divots the Witch’s own body had left hours before, obeyed and sank onto the yielding surface.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Vashante hovered at her shoulder, unease radiating through armoured joints. One servo thumb traced the hilt at her hip; the other hand settled on Bee.
“Your tongue,” the Witch murmured, busy with a cluster of cables.
Heat flared in Bee’s cheeks. Still, she parted her lips and disgorged her tongue—spooled metal-mesh-muscle tapering to a knife-bright plug. It slipped free with a wet sound, hanging a full arm’s length from her mouth. The Witch caught it mid-lurch, cool fingers wrapping the sinewy length. Bee stared at the ceiling, mortified, as the Witch guided the blade into a waiting port.
It seated with a dull clunk; ghost lights spilled across the console.
Bee tasted digital flashes. Metallic and acid bright.
The Witch inspected a row of screens, then looked down at Bee.
“Are you prepared?”
Bee’s eyes sought Vashante. The knight offered the smallest nod. Bee worked her jaw around the thick cable of her tongue and answered with a faint incline of her head.
“Good.” The Witch pressed her thumb to a lone switch.
Sound folded in on itself. Vision peeled away, colours drowning in velvet quicksand until only blackness remained. Bee’s last sensation was Vashante’s hand tightening around hers—a single anchor lost as the world guttered to dark.
[ UDT SYNC CONFIRMED ? 31,541,372,750,118s ] // epoch check-in
>> SESSION KEYGEN ? LATTICE-PORT “IV-SPIKE/ALB” ? PROTO-VER 20.14.8 <<<
>> GATEWAY HANDOFF ? daughterdomain.bas ? token=0xF2A7‐F9BD <<<
>>> “TextTrans” RECORD EVENT FUNCTION ENABLED <<<
>>> LACE ADAPTED INTERFACE, HANDSHAKE COMPLETE <<<
>>> CONFIRMATION SIGNED T31 @ L750,118s <<<
>>> SIGNAL SEQUENCE <<<
{trans.: chemosensory basic}, Neural Lace Override Command Sequence initiated. Execution Sequence Commenced @L750,118s. Remote Protocol Services Engaged.
“TextTrans” (recognised archaic non-sentient. Note Well: “TextTrans” Record Event function will remain enabled to document End-Read-point).
ACTIVE HANDLE ? SIM_SHALA_SAMP 2-32-B // user context locked
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
INIT-TRACE_____________________________________
0000 a9 df 00 10 b8 01 — HANDSHAKE_REQ( ECHO )
0001 a9 df 00 11 b8 02 — HANDSHAKE_ACK( ECHO )
0002 45 6e 74 69 74 79 3a 00 — ENTITY_FIELD → SIM_SHALA_SAMP 2-32-B
0003 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 —
[ AUTH-GATE 01 ? “MERCY-PELLICLE” ]
— Query: CREDENTIAL_DEPTH?
— Response: UNBOUND / CHILD HASH —> 40-bit salt returned
— Status: FLAGGED ( orphan namespace )
— Directive: Refer to next sentinel
[ AUTH-GATE 02 ? “VAS ∴ BONE-SIGIL” ]
— Challenge-Response rolling…
seed : 2d0ad2e31c
user : SIM_SHALA_SAMP 2-32-B
route : SPINES-OVER-TALLOW
— Result: MISMATCH @ T31 @ L750,119s
— Escalation: spin-off sub-routine ? ICE-CATHEDRA
ICE-CATHEDRA://DIAGNOSTIC
? sub-proc **SERAPH-MIRROR** invoked
? heuristics: quorum-vote (3/5) to PERMIT soft probe
? cost: 17 milli-blooms
? data path: STIGMA-RELAY ? CROWN-SEGMENT 11
// SIM_SHALA_SAMP 2-32-B vitals +12.3 bpm //
// dopaminergic surge detected //
[ AUTH-GATE 03 ? “VAT-LINEAGE/PRIME” ]
— Gene-cipher ping sent…
— Return packet: *Vat-Mother delta series fingerprint detected*
— Cross-index vs. SIM_SHALA_SAMP 1-18-I … MATCH 97.44 %
— Override tag appended: “PROGENIC EXEMPTION // level-amber”
GATE 03 opens ? pipe width limited to 24 bits s?1
? caution: /unbuffered/ ?
? caution: /temporal jitter/ ?
> NODE PATH RESOLVED: CHRYSALIS-PALL // MEM-VESSEL 19–A
> PERMISSION: SIGHT-ONLY (write-head masked)
— STREAM Σ — T31 @ L750,120s
query?: topography(current-heart)//immortal-vector
result : 0xAE 00 00 — LOCKED BY OWNER-ROOT
query?: motive(industrial-tithe)
result : STACK OVERFLOW // DATA TRUNCATED
query?: schema(“PROJECT: SIBYL‖STELLAR”)
result : XREF TO AVIA-REMNANT (permission denied)
ALERT ? ? latency spike 432 ms — domainside interference
ALERT ? ? sentinel “PILGRIM-INDEX” requesting live echo
{ ICE-CATHEDRA auto-patching noise floor … success }
[ AUTH-GATE 04 ? “HEART-FAULT/REV” ]
— System note: gate demands two-factor from BONE-MONARCH layer
— Second factor absent
— Provisionally deferring with token “INNOCENT-KEY” (expires 5 s)
— Path forks:
(a) REFLECT south-spires // load 31 kB
(b) REROUTE through HOLLOW-AIR duct // non-canonical
>> Auto-selection (b) — behalf of SIM_SHALA_SAMP 2-32-B
>> Bandwidth drops to 12 bits s?1
>> Visual feed collapses into monochrome line-glyphs
// core temp +0.4 K //
// tongue-bus impedance stable //
// anomaly: OBSERVER-id “PILGRIM-INDEX” present //
SYSTEM STACK (truncated)
0x01 ROOT-LIMEN.checksum = VALID
0x03 FLESH-LEDGER.sync ? retry (3)
0x07 PETAL-ENGINE ? locked (owner-root)
0x0C SORROW-BOROUGH ? orphan shard
0x10 PILGRIM-INDEX ? awake // polling
>>> /!\ LOCAL-SECURITY TRIPWIRE — STATUS YELLOW
Spawn job: “CONFESSION-CANTICLE”
Timer: 90 s to respondent identification
SIM_SHALA_SAMP 2-32-B granted provisional cloak: *TWILIGHT-DAUGHTER*
— usage: single query, single answer
— tamper voids session
REQUEST? _
REQUEST? speak_to(ACETYN) // handle: TWILIGHT-DAUGHTER
>> POST /bridge/init – nonce=0x3301F
>> HEADER: TWILIGHT-DAUGHTER / SIM_SHALA_SAMP 2-32-B / cloak-valid=single-use
[ ROUTER ? CHRYSALIS-PALL // MEM-VESSEL 19–A ]
— Verify cloak … OK
— Verify sight-only mask … OVERRIDE GRANTED (temp_write_head=ON)
— Spawn pipe: “GHOST-SHEATH/VR-LIMB”
— Bandwidth surge authorised ? 128 kB s?1 (limit)
PACKAGE STREAM──── T31 @ L750,120 s
PKG-ID SIZE(k) CRC STATUS
PROCE-PRISM 024 7E2B ? loaded
SENSE-MESH 048 1CD4 ? loaded
LOCUS-GATE 016 09AF ? loaded
PARSE-SIGMA 064 D772 ? loaded
NEURA-MAP 008 00B1 ? loaded
FALL0-SAFE 004 4FFF ? loaded
// spike-bus impedance rising (? +2.1 Ω)
// retinal latency 83 ms → 0 ms (synch locked)
// cortical buffer opened: 256 k syn / 256 k ack
>> INSTALL SEQUENCE BEGIN
step 1/6 mount PROCE-PRISM … done
step 2/6 lace SENSE-MESH … done
step 3/6 seat LOCUS-GATE … done
step 4/6 register PARSE-SIGMA … done
step 5/6 graft NEURA-MAP … done
step 6/6 arm FALL0-SAFE … done
— checksum(all) = PASS // delta-Δ 0x00
>>> EXEC FLAG RECEIVED – “EMPTY-THRONE/ENTER” <<<
>>> TRANSFERRING CONTROL ···
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