First Ascent Grips

Light forgets, Darkness remembers.

Caiatl wonders what waits inside the Traveler. She's heard the stories from Red Legion defectors about how it swallowed Ghaul like a warbeast choking down a bone.

"He's still in its belly," a Valus on her War Council once told her, and Saladin Forge had made a breathy sound through his nose that Caiatl interpreted as laughter.

That was days ago. Now she stands on the bridge of her ship, wondering what of Ghaul remains, the Traveler's glow reflected in the black of her eyes and the ornamental jewelry she wears on her tusks. She does not feel the pull of it, as she imagines Ghaul did, or even Saladin's quiet reverence. It is not a thing to be conquered or worshipped, but it is important to the people who are important to her—and that is all that matters.

When she hears footsteps behind her, she does not turn. She already knows whom they belong to.

"I did not request your counsel," she says without reprimand. "But if you have something to say, then speak."

"Must I always have some wisdom for you?" Saladin asks. "Can't we simply await the end together in comfortable silence?"

"Your worth is your wisdom. It's the only reason I let you live."

Saladin makes that noise again. He knows that isn't true.

And so does she.