If the journey from the Squall Spider had felt like an eternity encased in a stasis field, the trek through the tunnels beneath the ice plains was unbearable. Every fiber of Dis’s body ached, which was a relatively new experience for the pilot. His tarsus muscles burned from trying not to slip on the ice-slick floor, while his neck was stiff from crouching to avoid stalactites. Dis had experienced discomfort in his long life, of course he had, but Talortai were hardy to say the least. They healed quickly, the reasons for their heightened regenerative abilities largely unknown. Maybe it was genetic, maybe it was all thanks to the Force. The elders were purposely ignorant, scared of admitting their own abilities to themselves. Dis had no idea why, but had heard the legends of the great cull, an army descending on dragon-wing to cut through the population with their blazing crimson blades. In another time and place it would have been called putting down the competition, but back then, over four thousand seasons ago, it was nothing short of genocide. The Talortai, once legion, became an endangered species, and stayed that way purposely, rules set in place by the elders. The penalties for nonconformity were severe, as he had learned to his cost.

Dis banished the thoughts of home with a shake of his head. Why was he thinking of Talor with its council of cowards? It was the monotony of the descent, maybe. Yes, that’s what it had to be, he told himself as he grasped hold of the walls to stop himself from stumbling into Ro and Kufa.

The old woman had surprised them when they had squeezed into the narrow passage, opening her furs to release a trio of small flying drones, about the size of thermal detonators. Dis had raised his wingblades to cleave them in two before they attacked, but instead the floating spheres blazed with a brilliant light, illuminating the tunnel as clear as day. At least they could now see when they slipped on the ice.

Now his wingblades were back between his shoulders, sacrificed to the need of keeping his hands free to steady himself. His breath frosted in front of his beak, and the furs itched intolerably, but at least the woman had finally lapsed into silence as she led them down, down, down. For the first hour of their descent, the tunnel had echoed to her questions: Were the rumors true? Had Ro really become a pirate? Did he still practice their rituals? Had he heard from other members of their family? The Eye gave nothing away, answering with as few words as possible, even when the crone called him by a name Dis had never heard before.

Were the rumors true? Well, it depended on the rumors.

Yes, he had become a pirate among many, many other things.

No, but the rituals had never left him.