"We are sorry," he whispered. "We are sorry. We are not cured. We are broken. We are bleeding, hurt, torn asunder." The druid stared into her eyes. "And we will have our revenge."

JEID

 
JEID

"Shove it left!" Jeid shouted. "To the left, damn you."

Dorvin grunted at his side. "I'm trying! The damn thing's got a mind of its own."

"Of course it does." Jeid growled. "And probably a brighter mind than yours."

The two men walked abreast, each holding a wooden staff ending with a leather harness. Golgoloth shrieked and struggled before them, trapped in the harnesses, scuttling madly. As the demon thrashed, its claws and teeth tore through granite and limestone as easily as a shovel through loose soil.

"I will slay dragons," hissed the burrowing demon. "I will snap your bones, suck out the marrow, and pop your organs in my mouth. I will—"

Jeid shoved the shaft forward, slamming the demon against the far wall and smothering its words. "You will keep digging."

The creature squealed, legs thrashing like a mad spider. Chips of stone flew, buffeting Jeid and Dorvin.

They'd been digging for a long time now—perhaps a full day—shoving Golgoloth forward through the stony innards of the mountain. The tunnel was narrow, just large enough for him and Dorvin to walk abreast, its walls jagged and chipped.

When Jeid gazed behind him, he saw the others walking there—dozens of Vir Requis stretching down the sloping tunnel. They were wounded. They were grieving. They were hungry and thirsty and afraid, but hope shone in their eyes.

We will find a way out, Jeid swore. We will find our sky.

He turned back forward. He shoved against the shaft, driving the demon against the stone. He clenched his jaw as he worked, and Dorvin leaned forward at his side. Sweat drenched them, and the flying chips of rock cut their skin, but they kept shoving the demon forward. With squeals, with showering dust and rock, they kept advancing—foot by foot—tunneling ever upward.

After so long in the caves, Jeid was desperate to find his way out, to fly again, to breathe the open air. But part of him never wanted to emerge. Part of him hoped they'd keep burrowing forever, never finding the edge of the mountain.

When we emerge, I might find a world without you, my family.