#karn x reader

The sound mingles intermittently with the splash of heavy footfalls that trundle clumsily up the valley’s slope towards the mouth of Tri-Stone’s main tunnel.

Thick, leather boots slip backwards with every step gained as the soles fail to find purchase in the mud, a hinderance that threatens to bring a breathless giant to his knees between noisy hoots of laughter.

“That-!” Karn wheezes through immense lungs as he finally makes it to the tunnel, reaching out a hand to grasp at the slippery stone wall and haul himself underneath the overhang, “-Came out’a nowhere!”

As soon as he passes beneath the lip of jutting rock and into the tunnel proper, the rain stops hammering at the top of his hairless head, leaving the frigid water to dribble in rivulets down the back of his cowl instead where they’re warmed by the youngling’s neck, then rise in gentle curls of steam.

Held securely against Karn’s heaving chest by a damp, gloved palm, you finally pop your head out from behind his thumb, hair plastered firmly to your scalp despite his valiant efforts to shelter you from the worst of the torrent.

At last, between your own bouts of laughter, you manage to keep enough air in to cough out a faltering reply, “You must-! Have slipped over-! Like… seventeen times!” Your sentence is quick to fall away into another hitching breath when you recall – quite vividly – the colourful language that came spewing from Karn’s mouth as he scrambled to get out of the downpour, skidding on the slippery grass and landing on his rear enough times that his tunic is now thoroughly caked in mud, interspersed by the odd green stain.

It was a minor miracle he hadn’t dropped you.

You may be drenched straight through to the bone, but at least your clothes are only flecked with a few spatterings of mud. Poor Karn looks like he’s been dunked up to his waist in a chocolate river.

Not that he minds in the slightest. To Hell with pride. If all it takes is a bit of clumsiness to put this amount of delight on your pretty face, Karn would gladly sacrifice every last ounce of dignity he has left, if only to keep you smiling.

Flopping against the leather-bound fingers at your back, you inhale a long, calming breath and grin widely up into the maker’s sopping-wet face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move that fast,” you tell him, mildly impressed.

“I was tryin’ to get you outt’a the storm!” he quips, grey eyes twinkling with mirth even as they none-too-subtly dart over you from head to toe, surveying the extent of the water-damage.

It was his own folly that he hadn’t noticed the approaching tempest. After emerging from a lava-logged dungeon out near the Eastern edge of Baneswood – the same one he’d left deliberately unexplored so that you could delve into it together – he’d been too busy looking at you to see the roiling black clouds hanging ominously overhead.

His endeavours to keep you tucked under his chest and out of the rain when it had started coming down don’t seem to have helped all that much. The hair on your head sticks flat to your skull, and even your clothes are soaked all the way through, plastered to your skin in wet, wrinkled clumps of fabric that squelch noisily every time you shift in his palm.

Yet every patch of skin that isn’t covered seems to glimmer like diamonds in the soft, grey light….

To a youngling drunk on the afterglow of adventure, unexpected laughter, and who’s hopelessly besotted with his best and only real friend, you’ve never looked more breathtaking than you do right now.

Utterly oblivious to the maker’s captivated stare, you splay a hand across your chest and shoot him a lazy flutter of your lashes, pretending to swoon. “My hero.”

And Karn makes no attempt to disguise the swell of his chest at that.

“You know…” Heaving a sigh, you slouch in the maker’s palm and drape an elbow over the back of his curled fingertips. “… I don’t even care if Thane yells at us for sneaking out. That was the most fun I’ve had in ages!”

Truly, it was. It seems that every adventure you embark upon with Karn at your side is more exhilarating, far riskier, and twice as wild as the last. So much so that you’re half convinced the youngling is actively trying to outdo himself. But this latest venture, plundering the depths of a subterranean dungeon built by makers so ancient they’d make Eideard look young, has got to be among your favourites, if not for the thrill of exploring a stronghold that hasn’t been touched for millennia, then for the company alone.

Karn is the good sort. Funny, encouraging, and absurdly optimistic. You daresay that he was precisely what you needed after you lost Earth and found yourself tucked under the shadowy wing of the Horseman, Death.

Aware that you’re bulldozing straight into the realm of self-deprecation, you’re nonetheless still trying to figure out why the maker would want you as a friend. Why he’s remained adamant on calling you such even though several months have passed since that day you first met him outside the Cauldron. With Humanity restored and Earth no longer completely ruined, you presumed… that was it. You’d made some phenomenal friends and went on some frankly terrifying adventures, and now things would go back to – well, not normal per se, but you didn’t really expect to see him again, nor any of the others.

So, imagine your shock when Vulgrim of all demons, tracked you down on Earth with a message from the makers in Tri-Stone who’d heard of your survival and were imploring you to come back and see them.

Surprised but delighted to visit the beings who’d carved a niche out of their lives to fit you in it, you’d stepped away from the rebuilding efforts on Earth and made your way to their realm, promising the Horsemen that you wouldn’t be away for too long.

Which brings you to what you always knew would be your least favourite part of this visit…

Breathing out a wistful hum, you turn your face to the Vale and peer through the drizzle, roving your gaze up to the vague, yet familiar silhouette of the Tree of Life. It’s infinite branches stretch proudly over the landscape, blotting out a vast swathe of Stonefather’s peak in their vastness, an inescapable beacon that shows you home is always on the horizon.

“I’m glad we got to do one more adventure…” you murmur softly, “…before I have to leave.”

And just like that, the warmth that had been nestling contentedly around Karn’s heart is doused by an ice-cold splash of reality.

Right… leave…

A pair of broad shoulders slump alongside the youngling’s spirits as he remembers that today is the day he’s been dreading for nearly a week.

As is often the folly of youth, he thought he’d have more time…

All of a sudden, the hand you’re sitting in begins to move upwards, and just as you peel your focus off the Tree and turn towards the maker, you promptly find yourself blinking right into two doleful, grey eyes, wide and imploring.

“D’you really have to go?” he asks, looking for all the world like you’ve just told him news far more devastating than your imminent departure.

Slightly taken aback, you blink up at him for a moment, studying the downturned tilt of his mouth and the pinch of wrinkles between his brows, like he’s reluctant to see you leave.

But then, perhaps he’s just being kind. Because to think otherwise might imply that you’re actually someone who people want to have around.

And you just can’t bear to be wrong, can you?

“You know I’d like to stay,” you tell him honestly, “But with rebuilding efforts underway, I can’t really be off Earth for too long.”

A wild understatement. It took forever to get Death to let you out of his sight for more than a few days at a time, longer still to convince him to let you visit your friends in the Forge Lands. As the poor sucker who was ‘lucky’ enough to survive the Apocalypse, and the human who helped Death resurrect Humanity, your presence is frequently sought after to help smooth relations between the Horsemen and your fellow humans.

Karn’s expression somehow crumples even further, and pouting, he mutters, “Wish I could go with you…”

Gradually, your smile grows soft, exuding a particular kind of fondness that only he can provoke.

You know how much he’d love to see Earth for himself. And one day, hopefully someday soon, you’ll get to be the one who shows him.

“We’re working on it,” you console him instead, stroking your palm over the side of his thumb and thinking little of the way it twitches under your touch, “Strife and I are trying to raise the cap on inter-realm crossings, and there’s already talk about letting makers be the first to come over in bulk. God knows we need you guys to help us rebuild, but…”

But humans are suspicious, and with a plausible reason to be. Most are still frightened and wary of the beings that live beyond the Earthen realm, beings who are imminently stronger, older, and bigger than they are.

And they won’t soon forget that it was a Maker, after all, who’d played a major role in the end of the world.

“… But, it’s not gonna happen overnight,” you finish at last.

At that, your colossal friend visibly wilts in front of your eyes, and even his arms start to sag, dipping you further from his face as he casts it sideways and peers glumly out at the rain.

In the ensuing silence, the hiss of tumbling water grows ever more prominent, from a ‘whish’ to a roar, until you too find yourself following the maker’s gaze and twisting your head around to stare at the world beyond your little, dry refuge, wondering when the exhilaration was sucked out of the air and replaced with this cloying melancholy.

Surely the mention of your leaving wouldn’t have dampened the mood so sourly…

Would it?

“Well,” you announce once the quiet has ventured into the realm of ‘uncomfortable’ and you begin fidgeting in the soft leather of the glove beneath your legs, “Guess I’d better say my goodbyes to the others… wait for this rain to stop. And then I’ll be off.”

You risk a glance up at Karn, wincing at the sight of his ears drooping even further towards the ground.

The bob of his throat precedes a twitch in his jaw when he peels his lips apart and issues a sigh into the open air, the sound chased by a wispy, white cloud of his breath as it warms the world around it.

“I hope it never stops…” he murmurs.

Angling your head to one side, you grow still in his palm and ask, “What?”

All of a sudden, those once-soft eyes harden with resolve as Karn swings them back over to you and repeats himself, louder this time, “I said I hope it never stops. The rain. I hope it rains for a hundred years!”

Taken aback, you can do little else but offer an uncertain laugh that dies a quick death when his expression doesn’t change, and you start to realise that he might not be joking.

“Oh…kay?” you drawl out, flicking your eyes back and forth across his tightly-knit brow, “Um, why would you want that?”

Something akin to guilt – a quick, nervous stretch of his mouth – flashes across the youngling’s expression before it disappears just as abruptly. In its place, a rigidity stiffens his features, drawing his lips taut and carving an even deeper furrow between his brows. Then, finally, he works his jaw open and blurts, “So tha’ you’d never have to leave.”

Once again, you can’t think of a response fast enough to stave off the oppressive silence that wastes no time in reclaiming its lost space between you, at least until it’s broken by another stilted laugh.

“Alright, what’s going on?” you try to ask lightly, only to fall so wide of the mark that you end up sounding apprehensive instead, “It’s not like you to be this gloomy…” Then, deciding that’s too serious, you make an attempt at levity. “You’re starting to sound like Death.”

You expect the usual chuckle at the Horseman’s expense.

What you get instead is the rattle of a metal pauldron as the maker raises his arm in a shrug and snatches his gaze away from you, glaring steadfastly at the wall over your head with his jaw jutted forwards.

“Maybe I just hate it when you’re not around,” he sniffs petulantly, “Maybe we all do.”

Wait… What?

For a decidedly awkward stretch of time, you find yourself at a loss for words, struck nearly dumb by the highly exaggerated notion he’s just proposed.

You’re well-aware that Karn is often prone to hyperbolising his feats in battle and adventure, but this? To say that he and the others hate it when you’re not around?

Hate’s a strong word.

And there’s a nagging voice in the back of your head telling you that he’s just tossing any old excuse at the wall to see what’ll make you stick around a little bit longer.

But what you don’t yet understand is why.

Being around friends is lovely, sure, but everyone wants their space eventually, even if that space stretches on from weeks to months to years without a phone-call or a text that says, ‘Hey! Just checking in, you alive?’

… You know what it’s like. You know your company can start to grow stale after a while. It’s why none of your old school friends reached out later in life. You were their friend on the playground and in the classroom, but never a good enough friend for them to recall after the exams were over and you all went your separate ways. A stand-in, you suppose. Liked, but only when you just so happen to be around…

Perhaps, you try to reason, Karn just hasn’t quite made it to that threshold yet. Which is surprising after the solid week he’s spent practically attached to your hip like the world’s clingiest limpet, barely letting the other makers steal you away for more than an hour at a time.

So, maybe he’s not weary of your company yet, but that’s no reason to embellish quite so glaringly.

“Okay,” you say at last with a flippant snort that all but broadcasts your dismissal of his claim, “Now you’re just exaggerating.”

Tusks crack audibly against his canines as the maker’s jaw snaps shut and the muscle jumps, clenching tighter than a vice. Nostrils flaring, he uses his shoulder to shove himself off the wall and draws you down so he can better loom over your head, squinting hard from underneath a heavily creased brow with a glare that would look more fitting on Thane than on the happy-go-lucky youngling.

It’s a shift that’s startling enough for a twinge of unease to roll across your guts.

“Oh?” he blurts sharply, too sharply, in a voice that – again – doesn’t seem to suit your jolly giant friend in the slightest, “Wanna know exactly what we’re gonna do after you’re gone?”

You don’t think you’ve seen Karn this agitated since that corrupted custodian almost got the jump on you in the Foundry…

Before you can utter a single word, one gargantuan hand pulls away from the other and curls abruptly around your waist, hoisting you out of its twin’s palm in favour of depositing you on the floor of the tunnel, though all with the same level of care that you might set down a porcelain vase. That, at least, reassures you, as does the fact that he takes a second to steady you on your feet before pulling away and standing to his full height once again.

He’s released you, it seems, to free up his hands so that he can raise them and count off on each finger as he begins to elaborate, his voice echoing down the tunnel and bouncing off the damp, glistening walls.

“First,” he starts, sucking down a noisy breath and knocking off his forefinger, “Valus’ll be so busy sulkin’, he’s gonna refuse to forge anythin’ fer at least a week. Alya’s gonna be in such a foul mood, it won’t be worth talkin’ to ‘er. Muria’s plants’ll wilt ‘cause she’s so worried ‘bout what you’ll be gettin’ up to on Earth, an’ Thane’ll be polishin’ that practice sword you use ‘cause he says it ‘needs to be perfect’ for when you come back!”

Upon his final word, the youngling runs out of steam, blowing a long, hissing wheeze from his lungs like a great engine pulling into its last stop. He’s breathing hard, harder than he ought to be, as if he’s been holding something heavy in his chest for a long time and it’s finally starting to work its way out.

He knows precisely how his people are going to react to your departure because it happened the first time you left them, whisked away by the Tree of Life to realms unknown. And then a second time, when you were reunited with the village after Death took a long fall over an even longer drop into the Well of Souls and you were brought to Tri-Stone by that short, feathery fellow with the mannerisms of a crow.

The makers, collectively contented to have you become a permanent feature in their lives, felt their world shift out from under their feet when the Horseman inexplicably returned to bring you home to Earth.

Karn remembers. Remembers the withdrawn disappointment that turned Alya quiet for a month, and the way her brother would make odd, keening noises behind that metal slab for a mask from time to time, resolutely ignoring all of the tools strewn about their shared forge.

He remembers how the entire village seemed to shrink in on itself, the very stone turning inwards as if to hide the grief on its face. Everything about Tri Stone felt so much smaller without you in it. The irony of which wasn’t lost on him at the time.

Karn… had taken it hardest of all. He never got to tell you… Well, there were a lot of things he didn’t get to tell you. Some of them he still has yet to confess. His own indecision had swiftly turned into regret after you went home, and he was stuck on this side of the Tree, a fresh hole in his heart where your presence used to be, bundled up like treasure behind his ribcage, a hole that was neatly filled in once more when you returned to him just a week ago.

Standing uncertainly on the ground near his boots, you, in the meantime, have shied away from the wake of his outburst, your mouth hanging open gormlessly and your heart thumping an erratic rhythm behind your eardrums.

Whatever remnants of a happier mood had followed you inside the tunnel have been completely washed away.

There’s a very odd phenomenon occurring in your brain; You can understand every word that Karn just said, while at the same time comprehending absolutely nothing of the meaning behind them. This is news to you. Why on Earth would they just…?

“But….” Wetting your lips, you squint up at Karn and cant your head gently towards him, an inquiring gesture, seeking clarity, or at the very least a bit of elaboration. “Why?”

You jump out of your skin when he throws his arms out wide and tosses his head back as a laugh bursts out of his mouth, entirely humourless and near-enough frantic, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “’Cause we’ll MISS you!”

Which is… incomprehensible, frankly.

Why would the makers - a group of good-hearted, impressive, powerful, courageous, and downright extraordinary giants – miss you?

You’re you.

Oh, you’re not the worst human alive, though certainly not the best by a long stretch. People don’t miss you. It just wasn’t the way of things on Earth, a fact you’ve had years to come to terms with. Hell, you aren’t even particularly bothered by it anymore, perfectly content in the knowledge that when you are ‘missed,’ it’s only because you’re needed to play ambassador between species.

If Karn is to be believed, then the makers in Tri-Stone are breaking a pattern that’s been consistent for your entire life.

And while you couldn’t ask for better friends in them, you’re downright certain that they could find a better friend than you. Somehow, somewhere along the line, you’ve managed to convince yourself that, at best, they only like you when you happen to be around…

Huh… Sound familiar?

Reconciling what Karn has just admitted with what you know to be true leaves you scowling at the ground, perplexed and cold, growing colder by the second without his palms around you to keep the worst of the rain’s chill from settling in.

Suppressing a shudder, you clutch at your own elbows and scornfully huff, “What’s to miss?”

Maybe the cold is why your response came out frostier than it was supposed to.

Droplets of rainwater trickle down to gather at hem of Karn’s tunic, falling to the ground around him with soft ‘plips.’ He’s watching you again, and you must be cutting a pretty wretched figure because he lowers his arms and lets them dangle at his sides, the incredulity softening to genuine concern.

“Everythin’,” he breathes.

An explosive and dubious snort jumps out of you before you can think to catch it.

Pinning his ears back, Karn argues, “S’true!”

And while you don’t reply with words, you still throw your brows up and dip your chin, glancing off to the furthest wall, entirely unconvinced.

The maker grits his teeth. Fine. If that’s how you’re going to be… Perhaps it’s time he stops being a coward and gives you some irrefutable evidence.

“I-… I lo-…“ Cutting himself off with a grimace, Karn clenches his eyes shut tight and gives himself a mental kick.

So much for being brave.

Slowly, he peels them open again and sweeps a massive hand out towards you, holding it still, palm to the roof of the tunnel as if he’s trying to entreat you over to his side of the argument. “They all love you,” he croaks.

You can’t help it.

You flinch, eyes darting up to the maker in palpable alarm.

It isn’t quite panic that flashes like solar-fire across your chest at that, but it’s from the same vein.

The ‘L’ word.

Equal parts intimidating and wonderful. In this instance however, it feels as if he’s poised the word towards you like the business end of a sword.

“Come on Karn,” you force a carefree chuckle that almost gets stuck somewhere halfway up your throat, and comes out a rigid, wooden sound, harder to ignore than the uninvited squeeze of your chest, “I mean, sure I’m tolerable… But loveable? That’s…” You pause, sucking air in through your gritted teeth. “A bit of a stretch.”

Something in him gives a whimper and shrinks back in dismay at your comment. Then, he immediately shifts his weight forwards, collapsing onto his knees with a thud and planting each hand on the ground at your sides, trying not to read into the tiny step you take away from him.

“You…” The youngling chuffs, letting his forehead pucker miserably. “You don’t believe me.”

An unanticipated explosion of noise nearly rocks him backwards onto his heels.

“Can we-! Not! Do this!?” you exclaim shrilly, forcing out yet another self-conscious laugh as you wheel away from him, unaccustomed to feeling quite so exposed.

Because it’s awkward. It’s unpleasant. And it dredges up feelings you’d rather not let see the light of day, insecurities better left dead and buried for your own sake and the solace of the people around you.

You were both in such a good mood earlier.

What happened?

“Do what?” Karn retorts, nudging his head to the side to try and recapture your focus, “Tell you you’re important to us?”

“That’s not what you said.”

“I said they love you. What’s wrong with that?”

Nothing.

Everything.

Nothing wrong with saying it except for who he said it to.

With a brusque shake of your head, you take another step away from him and closer to the mouth of the tunnel, to the cascading sheet of water that tumbles from its overhang. The spray hits the ground and skims up the front of your legs.

It isn’t too late to salvage the levity, you reckon. If there’s one thing you’re halfway good at, it’s knocking a tough conversation off its trajectory and swinging it back to safer waters.

“… Nothing, buddy,” you shrug, falling back on the nickname he seems so fond of – although maybe he’s only fond of it because it came from you. “Nothing worth getting all worked up over anyway.”

Plastering on a grin that aches at the edges and feels as fruitless an endeavour as stapling jelly to a wall, you swivel around on a heel until you’re facing the maker once again, still on his knees, still grimacing down at you like you’re the most pitiful thing he’s seen all day.

The crooked arch of your smile gives a twitch. “Forget it… C’mon,” you sigh, gesturing at the long tunnel behind him as you begin to shuffle around his flank, “Let’s just… get back to the village, yeah? We can dry off in the forge. Warm up, and you can-“

“-No.”

You’re stopped dead in your tracks. Not from any conscious decision, but because the encompassing warmth of an immense palm sweeps up behind you for all of a second before a thumb and two fingers pinch the back of your shirt, pulling you to a halt directly beside the maker.

He’s leant across himself, snagging you gently in his paw but frowning hard at the ground between his knees.

Blinking widely, you manage to crank your neck around enough to look at him in profile, your spine rigid against the tips of his fingers. “No?” you ask.

And then, you’re being dragged, just slowly enough that you’re able to stay on your feet as you’re forced to tread backwards, heel over toe, offering only a few, indignant noises of complaint until you find yourself standing in between Karn’s knees once more.

“Hey! Do you mind?” you grunt, reaching over your shoulder to shove at his gloved fingertips.

Blessedly, they come away without much fuss, but his hand doesn’t venture far, resting on its side behind you on the ground and curling up like a leather barricade, hemming you in, removing one more angle of escape.

Crafty bastard.

Still, despite the frown on his face, his eyes are darting from you to the floor and back again, a nervous habit you began to notice after he’d say something he wasn’t sure you’d approve of.

“I-I don’t want to,” he stutters, “Forget it, I mean.” As if he might have been talking about anything else.

Under normal circumstances, he’d want nothing more than to ‘forget it,’ if that’s what you want. To go back to how things were not five minutes ago when he wasn’t at risk of jeopardising the best friendship he’s ever had.

When was the last time he ever said ‘no’ to you for fear of causing any sort of rift? He wracks his brains but turns up nothing.

Maker’s bones, he really does have it bad, doesn’t he?

So much so, apparently, that he’s deemed the risk of losing your friendship a lesser price to pay than the risk of having you believe you’re just tolerable. And if the only way to change your perspective is to reach into his chest, scoop out his heart and wrap your gentle hands around it and tell you, ‘This, right here. This belongs to only you,’ then so be it.

So, prying his clenched jaws apart, he inhales a vast lungful of air to steady the fluttering in his chest and locks you in his sights, holding your gaze without a thought to let it go until he’s said his piece.

“I’m not done talkin’,” he tells you with his faux-authority, “And you’re not done listenin’ to what I have to say.”

“Karn,” you start, blinking up at the once-passive maker like he’s grown a second head.

But he doesn’t give you a chance to say any more than that.

Lifting his free hand from the ground, he jabs the tip of his forefinger into your chest, just hard enough to jostle you as he demands, “How come you don’t think we love you?”

“Karn-“

“-‘Cause we do,” he steamrolls over your feeble protest, “The others-… they don’t just tolerate you. They think the world o’you.”

Fists clenching at your sides, you retort, “Doesn’t mean they love me, Karn.”

“They do,” he insists with a flash of his tusks.

Your own teeth are on display now, mirroring his frustrated grimace. “Stop saying that!” you argue waspishly, taking an inadvertent step back only for your calves to bump into the palm behind you.

“Why!?” he presses, “S’it really that hard to believe!?”

“And what if it is!?”

“It shouldn’t be!”

“They don’t love me, Karn!” you finally snap, raising your voice until it echoes down the tunnel and reverberates back into your ears, your own words reaffirmed shrilly by the cold, stone walls, “Nobody does!”

The maker suddenly adjusts his weight, and he pitches forwards, looming over you with his lips curled back and his eyes burning with the fanatical desperation of a man afraid of never being heard. Slamming his fist against the ground, never-minding the way you recoil into the cup of the palm behind you, he finally bellows out the words he’s been holding onto since the day you stumbled over that far horizon and into his life.

“I do!”

…. …… ……… It’s… funny.

When Karn imagined how this confession might go, he pictured it happening at sunset, the pair of you laying side by side on the soft grass of the vale, sleepy and satisfied from another ruin ticked off the proverbial list as you bask in the fiery hues of Lios and Helia’s rays as they descend below Stonefather’s Peak. Or perhaps he’d tell you at twilight, after the rest of the village have retired and all is soft silence save for the insects chirruping in the creek, and the lunar thrips dance over your heads whilst you sit and talk in hushed tones on the wall surrounding Muria’s garden.

Maybe, on occasion, he’s even dared to imagine how you would react to the news. Naturally, in his mind’s eye, you’d be thrilled. Eyes glistening with tears, you’d tell him you can’t believe he waited so long to fess up, and then you’d climb into his lap and declare with all the strength in your chest that you love him too. Always have. Ever since that day he met you outside the Cauldron.

This however… This was not what he imagined. Not even close. Spilling his most closely-guarded secret into the cold, lonely air of a tunnel with the rain cascading in waterfalls as a backdrop. And you, staring up at him with your eyes as dull and despondent as the weather outside your little refuge. You don’t look thrilled.

In fact, the only similarity he can draw between his fantasy and this reality is that there’s moisture glistening behind your lashes.

Exhaling raggedly, Karn slumps backwards onto the heels of his boots, tusks jutting out from his drooped lower lip.

“I love you,” he repeats croakily, searching, coaxing...

Gradually, the line that’s cut between your brows starts to lengthen, cleaving deeper into your skin, and he finds himself holding onto the air in his chest, peering down at you unblinkingly.

“No,” you utter in a voice as blunt as the business end of his hammer, “You don’t.”

Hurts about as much as a good slug from it too.

“Yes, I do,” he insists with an urgency that puts your back up.

Snapping into motion, you kick your trembling limbs into gear and storm sideways, escaping the breadth of his palm and back-peddling towards the vale once more, unaware of much beyond putting distance between yourself and these feelings of vulnerable confusion.

As you stumble backwards, you try to steel your heart against the maker crumpling in front of you. “You don’t love me, Karn,” you protest, slapping a splayed hand against your chest to add, “I don’t even love me. Hell, I barely even like me, why in the world would you?”

Hasty as a giant his size can be, Karn suddenly scrambles upright, getting his boots underneath him and taking a lurching step after you, one of his arms stretching out to bridge the gap between you. “How can you say that?” he pleads, and then, “Have you met yourself? How could I not love you!?”

You can think of several very harsh reasons off the top of your head, though none that you want to give voice to lest he think you’re looking for pity. You’re not.

You’re just… spooked.

Hell, Karn is certainly trying to approach you like you’re a horse that’s just seen a plastic bag, palms held out, treading carefully after you as you retreat further from him.

From one step to the next, an icy rush of water smacks the top of your skull without warning, and you let out a gasp of shock as the freezing rain spills down your shoulders and over your back until you’re once again drenched, exposed to the elements. You don’t stop though, not even when you nearly slip on the mud underfoot. You just continue moving backwards, watching the dark curtain of water that conceals the tunnel entrance.

“Wait!” a voice calls out, fighting to be heard over the deluge. Suddenly, Karn’s massive silhouette emerges from behind the curtain and diverges the water into two paths, letting them come together again as he steps out into the vale, his boot prints utterly swallowing the ones you’ve left behind.

“Where’re you going?” he begs, voice cracking.

Where are you going? Where do you usually retreat to when you’ve been blindsided and you need some time to sort through the squall of thoughts trying to race around in your head?

“I’m going home, Karn,” you tell him defeatedly, stumbling around on the slippery mud until you’re facing the far end of the vale.

The splashing of Karn’s boots grows quiet for a moment before it picks up again, hurrying towards you.

“But… what about the others?”

“The others’ll be fine!” you blurt, “Just tell them I said goodbye and had to rush! It’s not like this is the last time I’ll ever see you guys!”

Karn’s stomach gives an unpleasant lurch at the mere notion of never seeing you again, and as the seconds pass and he finds his insides tightening under winding tendrils of dread that squeeze at his guts and pluck at the nerves around his heart, the maker’s strength is sapped straight out of him, leaving him to trundle to a slow, unsteady halt halfway down the slope.

He wants to kick himself. Kind of wishes Thane had caught the pair of you sneaking out of Tri Stone if it meant he wouldn’t have stuck his foot in his mouth and scared you off. Alya’s always complaining about him and his big mouth… He’s never regretted opening it as much as he does now though.

All he can do is try to make things right again.

“I’m…! I’m sorry,” he croaks at the back of your retreating head, too softly for you to catch over the pouring rain and howling wind.

Blinded by the water hammering against his face, he raises a hand and squints underneath it, cupping the other around his mouth to call, “I’m sorry!”

Your figure, a tiny blob of colour against the greyscale landscape, slows to a staggered halt.

Bolstered by the pause, he dares to take a hesitant step towards you, hollering for the third time, “I’m sorry…! I didn’t- … Look, just-! Just come back! You’ll catch ‘yer death if you walk to the Tree in this!”

It’s the concern in his voice that hits you hardest, leaving you colder than the very real chill settling into your bones from the rain.

You’ve made him think he’s the one who has anything to apologise for…

That couldn’t be further from the truth.

He’s your friend. One of the best you’ve ever had. It isn’t his fault you’re so full of doubt that it’s more comical than tragic.

To doubt is what makes you Human, you remember Death telling you some time ago when you were trying to come to grips with his own existence, for once without a hint of derision in his tone, just a matter-of-factness that reminded you of how old people talk about the weather, Of all the Universe’s species, I’ve never known any to cast as much doubt as humans.

‘Can you blame us?’ you’d thought privately at the time. How could we not after finding out that every bit of wonder we thought might be real – magic, superheroes, knights and dragons, Good triumphing over Evil - they all turned out to be well-meaning lies invented by adults to make our childhoods just a little more magical before the real truth set in. That the world isn’t such a fantastical place after all.

Then again… in a Universe that has since proved to you that magic does exist, as do angels, demons and giants, why does the concept of being loved seem so implausible?

If you ever figure out the answer to that, Jamaerah might have to make you an honorary scribe.

Lost to your musings, you almost don’t notice the moment when the rapid drumbeats of rain on top of your head comes to a stop.

You certainly notice the shadow that falls over you though, blanketing you in a muted darkness and finally drawing your gaze up off the glistening grass underfoot.

Craning your neck back, you find Karn standing over you with one of his bulky arms raised and his hand poised above your head, fingers splayed out like the prongs of an umbrella, keeping the worst of the rain off you and letting it drizzle harmlessly over his glove instead. The gesture is sweet, knocking some of the wind out of your sails.

Together, you must paint a pretty dismal picture.

He meets your gaze for all of a second before he turns it to the ground again, struck shy in the face of the woman who quite literally ran from his declaration of love.  

“Come back to town with me,” he all but pleads, hunched over, unsure of himself, “M’sorry…”

There are far worse things, evidently, than facing the impossibility of being loved. First and foremost; the sight of real tears glinting in Karn’s warm, grey eyes. Or perhaps that’s just the rain gathering on his lashes. Either way, the damage is done, a surge of guilt has stoppered your urge to escape, and you don’t think you can bear to hear him apologise to you once more.

The sigh you heave is long and slow, and you end it by offering the maker a simple shake of your head, still clinging to your elbows. “Don’t,” you murmur, shuddering as a breeze rolls across the valley, carried down from the snowy peaks of the mountains, “Don’t be sorry, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You ran,” he points out as gently as he can to still be heard over the wind.

“Yeah, well…” You shrug helplessly. ”Guess I’m just… jumpy.”

“Cause I said I-… Y’know. That.”

Wincing, you start to say, “You don’t lo-“ but one glance at the maker’s darkening expression has you changing tacks, “Not everyone was made to be loved, Karn. Plenty of people live their whole lives without knowing what it feels like. People like me. That’s just our lot in life. And that’s… it’s okay.”

“But…” Wetting his already rain-slicked lips, he shakes his head and stubbornly retorts, “But it’s not true for you.”

Finally prying your fingernails out of your bare arms, you clasp your hands together instead and rub a thumb against the inside of your palm, considering your next words carefully.

“I know that people don’t… think about me the way I sometimes want to be thought about,” you start, “And when you grew up the way I did, you learn that anyone who tells you… that… is either a liar or…” Pausing, you look hard at the youngling staring back at you, painfully earnest and attentive. “…Or they’re wrong,” you finish, fixing him with a solemn stare. “I don’t think you’re a liar, Karn.”

“An’ I know I’m not wrong,” he replies firmly, and then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, “Cause I’m never as happy as I am when you’re around.”

And what the Hell are you supposed to say to that beyond a succinct, “Huh?”

The side of Karn’s nose curls around a hard sniff as he starts to bend his knees, crouching slowly into a squat and reaching a hand out towards you, palm tilted up in an invitation that you recognise well. “When I heard you were comin’ back to Tri Stone for a visit,” he begins, “I got so excited I forgot to sleep! All I could do was count the days ‘til you arrived.”

… Oh…

Excited? To see you?

That’s… new.

Drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, you worry at it for a moment, studying the very tempting – undoubtedly warm – seat being offered to you. Now that your initial flight has been pulled up short, you’re almost embarrassed to have found yourself standing awkwardly out here, shivering in the rain.

“N’when you finally did,” Karn adds hoarsely, “It was like everythin’ I was ever worried about didn’t seem so bad!” The waver in his voice drags your attention from his hand and returns it to his face, just in time to see him wrestle his lips into an encouraging smile. “… ‘cause you were here.”

The teeth on your lip bite down hard enough that the pain briefly distracts you from a sudden sting prickling behind your eyelids.

It appears even Karn hadn’t expected his own sentiment to sound quite so tender. He swallows thickly, his throat bobbing behind his dusty, blue cowl before he clears his throat and aims a sheepish nod at the palm hovering tantalisingly close to your side.

“Look, just… Come back to town, eh? Least ‘til the rain stops…” And then with his next utterance, he goes straight for the jugular. “Blackroot’ll be heartbroken if you leave without sayin’ goodbye to him at least.”

Despite the mood, you can’t stop the wet, aborted laugh that flies out of your mouth. “Now that’s just fighting dirty,” you sniffle, wiping your nose with the back of a wrist.

“Heh…” Karn has to catch the inside of his cheek to suppress a triumphant grin, hiding the quirk of his lips by glancing down at the mud that’s caked all over his boots. “Well,” he shrugs bashfully, “Seems fittin’.”

Several second fritter away, carried off by the wind whilst the pair of you hover near each other in silence, each considering the other from the corner of an eye.

Until at last, with the softest, most tentative motion, you turn your back to the maker’s proffered hand… and slowly sink down onto the edge of his palm.

Gasping in a tiny, hopeful breath, Karn’s eyes grow wide and round as he lifts his gaze to see you swinging your legs up and into his glove, settling back against his fingers as they curve over to meet your delicate spine.

The wrongness that’s been festering around his heart dissipates like a noxious cloud blown away by a fresh breeze.

Bodily, the youngling slumps, nearly rocking all the way over as his shoulders droop whilst his heart rises from the dark, moiling pit that’s steadily closing up in his belly.

He falls just shy of gushing out a heartfelt ‘thank you,’ deciding instead to simply pull you in close to his chest and beam down at you through his sodden lashes, keeping his free hand curled slightly over your head to stave off the downpour that’s still drumming across the vale.

Sheltered on one side by the maker’s girth, held safely in his palm while the other protects your back and head, you try to ease the last vestiges of panic from your lungs by drawing in an aching breath and exhaling it all out again, following Karn’s lead and allowing your body to just… slump.

“I’m sorry,” you confess, drawing your knees up to wrap your trembling arms around them and hug them tight, leaning sideways against the youngling’s sternum.

His almighty chest rumbles beneath your ear when he offers a soft, “M’sorry too.”

“Karn, you really don’t have to be sorry for-“

“-Not sorry for what I said,” he interrupts, starting the laborious trudge up the slope towards Tri Stone once more, “I ain’t sorry for that. I meant it.”

Canting his head down to peer at you over the fraying edge of his cowl, the maker’s eyes crinkle at their corners as he scrutinises you, and when he sighs, his chest rises and falls so greatly, you can hear his heartbeat picking up speed even behind the thick, woolly cloth of his tunic.

“I’m sorry you don’t believe it’s possible,” he finishes.

If Karn had his way, he’d find out who the thief was who stole the certainty out of your heart and he’d bare his tusks and clench his fists and demand they put it back…

But that’s the wishful thinking of a youngling who’s ferociously loyal and desperate to prove his worth to you.

There are other ways, a wizened voice whispers at the back of his mind, sounding suspiciously like Eideard.

Karn blinks, humming lowly in his throat.

“Don’t matter if you believe me or not,” he sniffs with an air of finality, plodding over the mud with far more surefootedness than he had before, “You didn’t believe in makers ‘bout a year ago. Didn’t make us any less real.”

“Hm… Fair point,” you concede, raising your head to peer tiredly up at the ceiling of rock that swallows you both down into dry, familiar darkness, lit only by a scattering of glowstones embedded into the walls.

“And if… if it’s hard for you to hear it,” he continues hesitantly as you swivel around to meet his eye, “Then I won’t say it to you… I’ll show you.” He barely even registers that he’s slowed his gait to focus on you, nor that he’s lifting you towards his face inch by precious inch until you’re sitting level with his stare. “I’ll spend the rest of your life showin’ you what you mean to me,” he says, brooking no argument. Then, rather generously, he nods his chin in the vague direction of Tri Stone and adds, “To all of us.”

Later, you’ll blame it on the sentimental nature of the evening’s conversation, or the cold getting to your head, but whatever you foist the blame onto, deep down you know good and well that there was nothing that could have stopped you from kneeling up in Karn’s glove and teetering forwards until you flop quite abruptly over his shoulder. There, you proceed to wrap your arms as far as they’ll go around his thick neck, holding onto him like he’s the only anchor you have left to tether you to this realm. Implicitly, you trust that his palm will remain beneath your legs to keep you from falling.

In turn, Karn doesn’t even hesitate for a second before he’s melting into your embrace with a rich, contented hum. His comparatively monstrous hand, gentled by weeks of learning how to hold you, falls across your back and squashes you carefully to his neck as he tucks in his chin and pushes his nose into your hair.

Long gone are the days when you’d extend a gesture of friendly affection to the maker and he’d react as if you were trying to hand him a live grenade, startled, skittery, and completely clueless as to how he should be reciprocating.

He was scared to death that he might hurt you by accident until you showed him how much more resilient humans were than he expected, and he learned quickly, ravenously, drinking in every last scrap of tenderness you fed him like a man on the cusp of starvation. He learned how to hold you – exactly like he is now – without squeezing the air out of your lungs, yet in such a way that you’re fairly confident there isn’t a force in the Universe that could pry you out of his hands.

He learned because you showed him.

Perhaps… when he says he’ll show you, the implication is that you could learn as well…

His voice is so soothing you melted when he dirty talks to you on the bed when you are close to the climax while he hushes you when you are trying to talk.

“Shhh…hush darling there’s no need to talk I wanna hear your sweet moans it’s a music to my ears.”

I headcanon him to have a deep voice but still have a maniacal laughter.

His tip would be darker pink and his dick size is around 11 inches extremly hairy pubic hair.

He will let you squeeze his pecs or scratch on his back when he is pounding you being into it that his thrust will go faster being turned on.

He’s an okay guy that might have sex after a month or a week if you ever feel horny he would tease and masterbate for you when you are sitting on his lap while his hands are rubbing your parts when he isn’t in the mood for sex while he is busy doing a multi task.

This man have a high sex drive that he will keep up if you want a round two and he is a service top when you ask him what he will do for you.

He’s very rough and fast on bed in his age when you two get intimate on bed when he have sex with you that his hands are very strong and rough when he clench your thighs having a bruise on you.

He loves biting your body and tasting your skin that it tastes sweet sinking his sharp teeth’s into your skin making a lot of hickeys and bite marks when you bleed from his biting he licked off the blood of your body he couldn’t get enough of you.

He place food on your body with steaks and juicy meat as the juices drip onto your body while lying on the table naked as he will start eating it off your body you feel more aroused when he licked the juice off your body it made you shiver feeling his tongue sliding across your skin if are clean from bath.

He would fuck you in public spaces when no one looking that he would tease your crotch underneath the table with his foot in the restaurant,on his ship while you hold onto the rails for life while in the middle of the ocean or in the alleyway thrusting his cock into your mouth.

Then, with that thinly-veiled threat still ringing in your ears, Karn tips his arm back and launches the Horseman into the air like a boulder fired from a trebuchet. 

Admittedly, your heart skips several beats at the sight of Death sailing gracefully over a plummetless gorge, but just as before, Karn demonstrates that he has impeccable aim and judgement, for the Nephilim lands on the far side with practiced ease and little more than a low grunt of exertion.

Only then do you release the breath you'd been holding.

Standing up, the Horseman dusts himself off and throws a quick, backwards glance across the gorge, eyeing his two protégés for a moment longer before he turns on his heel and strides onwards, disappearing through a set of dilapidated, wooden doors.

With Death gone again for the time being and little else to do but wait, you venture back towards the edge of the escarpment and peer down over it, at once noticing the pull of gravity as it tries to tempt you into that dark, fathomless chasm. A stone that had been resting on the very lip is nudged loose by your boot and you anxiously watch it tumble down the side of the cliff, feeling decidedly nauseous that you can hear it bouncing off rocks and debris long after it has disappeared into the darkness below. 

“Heck of a long drop,” Karn chuckles nervously, shuffling a little closer to you.

“Yeah. It is...” Seemingly lost in a world of your own, you're quiet for a minute longer, and the youngling opens his mouth to make another observation, only to find himself cut off when you suddenly ask, “Hey, Karn? Do makers ever feel l'appel du vide?” 

“La.. apple doo... Eh?” 

“It's the call of the void,” you explain with a faraway smile, “A lot of humans get it, I just wondered if the feeling was universal.”

His ears prick forward with interest and he admits, “Never heard of it, what's it do?” 

“Well, mostly it's this phenomenon where you get the urge to jump from high places-”

You nearly choke on your own spit when gloved fingers suddenly curl around you and you're hurriedly ushered back to what Karn deems is a safe distance – right behind his boot. “Don't say stuff like that!” he all but howls, agitation turning his breaths shallow. 

Amused, you raise a brow at the ruffled maker and say, “...If you'd have let me finish, I was going to say it's the urge to jump from high places, but knowing that you never actually would.” 

All at once, Karn blinks hard, and some of the colour rushes back into his cheeks. “O-Oh, right. I knew that,” he tries to save face, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“You didn't really think I was going to jump in, did you?”

“No, no! O'course not!” 

'Liar,' a voice whispers at the corner of his mind. Fumbling for an excuse, he glances around rapidly before his gaze falls on some loose pebbles gathered on the cliff's precipice and he gestures to it, eager for a distraction. “But the, err... The.. the ground's weathered away right near the edge. Don't want you fallin' in by accident, ey?” 

Poking your head out from around his leg, you cast a wary eye over the drop off and hum, “No, I suppose not.” Then, in a more jocular tone, you flash him a grin and add, “I don't think I'll be able to save you from Thane a second time if anything happens to me.” 

Karn's face instantly pulls into a grimace. “Ach, don't remind me of that. Thought he'd never stop yellin'.” 

The youngling hesitates for a few beats and you watch curiously whilst he rolls his tongue around in his mouth, a thoughtful expression drawing his brows together and puckering his forehead. After another few seconds, he angles himself so that he's turned away from you slightly, his stare pointed towards one of the holes in the ceiling. “Actually, I've been meanin' to thank you for that.”

“Thank me?” you echo, “For what?”

Rain trickles down from above in sporadic patches all across the chamber, allowed in through the gaps where the ceiling has eroded away. Karn just watches it fall for a while before his shoulders raise into a shrug and he lets them drop heavily again, sucking in a breath that seems to glue his throat shut. Still, he manages to admit, “For stickin' up for me - against the Horseman, and against Thane.” Pausing to scratch at his chin, he stammers, “I – uh... I've never really.. had a – a friend who'd do that for me before...”

He still won't look at you, but you can't hold that against him. So, rather than try to catch his gaze, you instead follow it up to the ceiling whilst one of your hands lifts surreptitiously and gives the side of his leg a few, companionable pats. “Well, you've got one now,” you tell him, “Just... please don't go riling anyone else up for a while, yeah?” 

“Ha! You're one to talk! Maybe I’ll tell ol’ Eideard about you standin’ so close to cliff edges, eh?” he retorts with a smirk, at last dragging his gaze down to look at you, finding that you're already peering back, the corners of your eyes forming pretty crinkles that seem to hold a boundless supply of sincerity.

“You would not,” you challenge.

Without really knowing he's doing it, Karn's face slowly tries to mimic your expression in the hopes that it might convey to you the immensity of the gratitude he wishes he could say out loud.

All too soon though, movement on the other side of the hall draws your attention and you break eye contact with the maker to squint across the gorge, your face brightening at the sight of Death as he emerges from the far doorway. “Hey!” you wave, raising your hand high into the air before the stretch sends a twinge of pain down to your side and you wince, trying to casually lower your arm again.

From his relatively safe distance, the Horseman allows some of the tension to seep from his shoulders when he notices that you and the youngling are still standing where he left you, and in one piece, to boot.

“Didj'ya find a way around!?” Karn hollers.

“No luck, in that regard!” Death replies, “We'll have to turn back and try a different path! The heart stones must be elsewhere!”

His response elicits aggravated groans from the pair of younglings and he finds himself letting out a chuckle that comes dangerously close to the realm of fondness. Snapping his jaw shut, he's quick to catch it and stuff it back down before he clears his throat, continuing, “Just stay where you are – I'm coming back across!”

He sees you share another confused glance with Karn, then you turn back towards him and shout, “Um – How're you going to get back over here?! It took a maker just to get you to that side!” 

Death doesn't seem nearly as perturbed as you think he should be. “Let's just say... this wasn't an entirely wasted journey!” Beneath his mask is a self-assured smirk and it remains plastered on as he takes several, calculating steps backwards, away from the precipice he stands upon. 

“Wait!-” he hears you call, “ - You're not going to?! -” 

Before you can even finish your sentence, the Horseman is on the move, darting forwards into a reckless sprint and garnering a yelp of alarm from the other side of the gorge. 

“Death! What are you doing!?” you can't help but shriek, throwing your hands up to bury them in your hair, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

The Horseman leaps clear from the edge, sailing out over the gaping maw that lays in wait below him. 

Then, he begins to drop. 

Blinded by panic, you dash around Karn following some, misguided thought that you could stop Death's fall. Even the maker jerks his arm up, stretching it towards the descending Nephilim, although he at least has the presence of mind to throw his other hand out in front of you to keep you away from the edge.

Whilst you watch, your stomach drops alongside the Horseman, plunging into your shoes and you wonder if this is the kind of panic that Karn had felt when you mentioned the Call of the void.

All of a sudden, to your astonishment, a brilliant flash of purple light erupts from Death's outstretched hand. 

You'd almost think you were seeing things if you weren't already standing in a different plane of existence next to a giant. 

What looks to be a large, ethereal hand explodes out of a gauntlet strapped to Death's wrist and stretches up towards the roof, riding on threads of coiling, purple smoke. Translucent fingers wrap around one of the ceiling beams and the room fills with the sound of creaking wood as Death launches himself across the vast gap, thrusting his body forwards at the apex of his swing and you gasp when the purple hand abruptly lets go of the beam. 

The Horseman's momentum carries him the rest of the way and you stare agape as he lands lightly on the plateau in front of you, straightening up without a care in the world. 

For several, quiet moments, both you and Karn blink owlishly at him, whilst he merely peers back until at last, his brows dip into a frown and he snaps, “What?” 

With the spell of shock broken, you shake your head rapidly from side to side and adopt a scowl of your own. “What do you mean, 'what!?'” you bark, gesturing to his arm, “Why didn't you tell us you could do that? Karn and I nearly had a heart attack!”

At that, the maker clears his throat, picks his jaw off the ground and breezily attests, “Ah, I knew he had somethin' up his sleeve the whole time.” 

“Quite literally, in this case,” Death muses and holds up his arm, showing off the new accessory adorning his wrist – a gauntlet carved into the shape of a screaming, silver skull.

Unnerved by the blank-eyed face staring back at you, you drag your eyes away and turn them to Death, softly admitting, “I thought you were going to get seriously hurt.” 

“Yes, well...” He pauses to shove aside an ensuing burst of warmth and folds his arms tightly, partially obscuring his gauntlet from view, “I hardly think you're in any position to be casting judgement after some of the stunts you've pulled.” 

Your mouth opens despite having nothing of any real substance to say in your own defence, and the flat look he's giving you is enough to extinguish the fire in your belly. Biting your lip, you glance away from his pointed stare and mutter, “Touché.”

With a smirk, the Horseman claps you on the shoulder, steering you around and giving you a guiding nudge back in the direction you'd come in from. “Now then, if you've finished sulking, I'd like to get a move on,” he says firmly, “We need to hurry if we want to get these heart stones before nightfall.” He strides ahead of you to once again lead the way, leaving you sandwiched between himself and the maker at your rear. 

“I reckon we'll manage,” the latter pipes up, “Should be easier now that you've gone and found yerself a new toy.” Struck by a sudden thought, the maker trails off, frowning down at his boots for a few steps before he murmurs, “S'pose that puts me out of a job, eh?”

Craning your head over a shoulder, you shoot him a quizzical look and ask, “What d'you mean?” 

“Well-” He gestures to Death “- He's got that fancy new trick now. He can get about on his own just fine. Won't be needin' me anymore, will you.” 

“Of course we'll still need you, Karn,” you assure him, smiling when you see his ears perk up at your words, “You're the group muscle, after all.”

Death can practically hear Karn's chest swell up with pride and he stifles a scoff at the notion that a youngling could be stronger than the eldest of the Four.

“Huh. Reckon you might be right there,” the maker agrees, hooking his thumbs into the straps of his pack, his ego adequately stroked, “We adventurin’ types tend to carry muscle more than most, y’know.” 

The Horseman's low, grumbled comment is lost underneath your ensuing chatter. 

“That must make me the brains of this outfit....” 

Fortunately, neither you nor the maker seem to hear him and he lets out a sigh, shaking his head as he continues to lead you through the Foundry, back in the direction of the Guardian.

---------------------------

Your journey through the enormous structure's depths soon brings you to another, dead-end chamber. This one however, unlike the first, at least contains one of your sought after quarries.

Stretched out before you lies a long, marrow catwalk that stands mere meters above a roaring moat of lava, and at the far end, suspended high above the ground by a vast, metal clamp, is the first heart stone.

Unfortunately, much to the Horseman's chagrin, it doesn't look to be quite as accessible as he'd assumed it would be... 

Upon stepping through the doors of the chamber, the heat encompasses you like a heavy blanket and you let out an audible gasp, instantly raising your hand to fan yourself. “Ugh, god, it's like hell's sauna in here!” you complain, earning a chuckle from the maker behind you. 

After taking just a few steps into the room, you stop in your tracks and begin to fight with the hem of your jumper and Karn's amusement swiftly turns to a grunt as he's forced to come to a dead-halt as well, lest he trip over you. Curious, he tips his head to the side and blinks down at you, watching you tug the fluffy garment up and over your head... 

….And then, he promptly swallows his tongue when your tank top is pulled up as well, giving him an uninterrupted view of your midriff. For a few, glorious seconds, the sounds of the chamber, nay, the whole world seem to dip to a graceful hum.

Perhaps it's because this is a part of you he's never been privy to before. Perhaps it's because the flash of skin he catches sight of feels so... intimate, as though this is something he shouldn't be allowed to see, and now that he has, his heart has set to pounding like a war drum on the brink of a fearsome battle.

Then all too soon, your head pops out of your jumper and you breath a sigh of relief, and Karn is given no time to regain his composure.

If he thought your midriff was entrancing, he's wholly unprepared to see the rest of you.

In the rich, golden and orange light cast by the churning lava, your skin glows like it's on fire, every pore seemingly beset by thousands of tiny jewels that sparkle when you move and the sweat beading on your collar bones appears more like a cloak of shimmering stars to the young, awestruck maker. 

All the magic in the realm couldn't have held his attention the way you do when you twist your head back to smile up at him and he catches the delicate bob of your throat, his ears twitching forwards in anticipation to hear the sound of your voice. 

“Hey, would you mind hanging onto this? It's way too hot to wear it, even if I tie it around my waist.” 

Seconds tick by and all you receive as a response from the maker is a long, dazed blink. 

“Karn? You... don't have to if you don't want to...” 

“PUP!” 

The two of you jump at Death's abrupt, authoritative bark and you whip your head over a shoulder to find him glaring up at the maker with a look that's cold enough to send icy fingers dancing up your spine, despite the heat surrounding you. 

“I believe she asked you a question,” the Horseman drawls, his casual tone a million miles away from matching the rigidity of his stance. 

Raising a brow at the unexpected hostility rolling off him in waves, you turn back to Karn and see that he's giving his head a hard shake, blinking back into focus. Fumbling over his words, he reaches out and takes your proffered jumper between two, colossal fingers, gingerly lifting it out of your grasp. “A-aye, sorry.” 

At his stumbled apology, you put on a heartfelt smile and say, “Thanks, Karn.”

The youngling only manages to gulp, “Yup,” in response. 

You try to catch his gaze again, but the effort is futile and your confusion only grows when his lips tug into a troubled frown that he punctuates with a sigh, flipping open a pouch on his belt and carefully tucking your jumper inside as though it were made of glass. Giving a mental shrug, you turn back towards the heart stone and you can't help but notice that Death keeps his glare trained on Karn until you pass him, and only then does he tear his eyes away from the youngling to watch you instead. 

“So,” you declare loudly, eager to ease the unplaceable atmosphere that has descended over the room, “How in the world are we going to get that stone down from there?” 

At your side, Death regards the heart stone with equal perplexity. From the corner of his eye, he notices that Karn has sidled up next to you as well, the youngling's face now a rather satisfying beet-red and his eyes fixed on the ground at his feet. It's almost laughable that the look of quandary plastered on his face has nothing to do with the heart stone's inaccessibility. Death only hopes he doesn't hurt himself by thinking too hard on it.

The Horseman is no fool, and unlike you, he can see all too clearly that the young maker is struggling to get to grips with his fondness for you. Actually, after having witnessed the conspicuous glances that Karn has been shooting you every five minutes ever since he first laid eyes on you outside the Cauldron, Death is inclined to believe that this may have surpassed the realms of fondness. 

No... unsettlingly, the territory being trodden upon here has begun to border the realm of something far stronger, something the Horseman can no longer ignore. 

Karn is immutably, unflinchingly besotted with you...

The very idea causes Death's lips to curl in distaste. After all, the foolish notion has only come about because you've been overwhelmingly kind to the youngling, and now, what he thinks he's feeling is nothing more than an intense need for companionship, garnered after such a long time spent being lonely.

However... Now is not the time for Death to let himself be distracted by such matters, he reminds himself sternly, not that he should ever have been distracted by them in the first place. What does a Horseman care of the tender friendship being cultivated right before his very eyes?

Brushing the thoughts aside, he focuses on the heart stone dangling high overhead and narrows his eyes, musing, “I could knock it loose, if I could get up there.”

“What about using your new gauntlet?” you ask, but the Horseman only shakes his head. 

“It's reach is impressive, but I don't think it'll carry me that far....” Trailing off, he swivels his eyes around to contemplate the maker, humming deep in his throat as his mind begins to form an idea. Seconds later, he barks, “Pup, don't move.”   “Eh, what-?” The youngling goes rigid when Death begins stalking deliberately towards him, his concern mounting with each step that brings him closer. Still, he remains obediently still, only just suppressing a shiver as the Nephilim suddenly scurries up his back and onto the bewildered youngling's shoulder where he straightens up and smirks at the look on your face.

“You know, if you wanted a boost, Horseman, you only needed to ask,” the maker huffs, though he finds his complaint largely ignored by Death, who simply lifts an arm over his head. 

From his gauntlet, spectral, purple limb bursts forth and flies up towards the ceiling. Ethereal fingers snag around one of the clamp arms that hold the heart stone in place and then, Death kicks off from the maker's shoulder and zooms into the air, dragged up by his unconventional grappling hook. Just before he crashes face-first into the stone, he throws out his real hand and catches the flat top of it in a vice-like grip. 

Fascinated by his feats of acrobatics, you watch raptly as he braces his boots against its side and dangles there, one hand keeping him suspended far above your head whilst the other pulls his scythe off his back, and he flips the weapon upside down to use its blunt edge like a hammer, slamming it violently down on top of the heart stone. Each strike produces a resonant chime that rings in your ears. 

At first, you don't think Death's strength alone will be enough to dislodge something so well-secured to the ceiling, but after a few more hits, the whole thing suddenly comes loose and falls at an alarming rate to the ground far below. With a deafening 'WHUMP', it lands, and not a second later, Death follows, though his impact is carried out with far more grace and poise, thankfully.

“I've got it,” Karn declares, stepping around you and sauntering up to the heart stone. He crouches down beside it and wraps both hands around each side, his teeth grit together tightly as he lifts the gigantic load up, throwing it up and onto his sturdy shoulder, one hand keeping it steady whilst the other is free to use his hammer, should he come to need it.

Death rolls his eyes at the maker's obvious peacocking, but you at least seem entertained, clapping your hands appreciatively when Karn checks to see if you witnessed his impressive display of strength. 

“All right, enough showboating, the pair of you,” Death grumbles, placing his scythe back on his hip and striding past you along the catwalk, “We need to get this stone back to the Guardian.” Pausing mid-step, he casts the youngling a sly, appraising glance, “Or... we could head straight for the second stone... if Karn thinks he can carry two of them at once?”

The youngling seems to visibly wither under Death's cool observation, but he still sputters, “O'course I could!” all too aware that your gaze is also trained on him. 

To his relief however, he's let off the hook after you rather kindly suggest, “One stone at a time, Death. Karn needs a hand free to fight constructs, right?”

Putting on a dramatic sigh, the Horseman replies, “Ah, but of course. Sensible as ever, aren’t we.” Sarcasm drips poignantly from his lips and he half expects you to offer a retort, so it's somewhat disappointing when you don't, at least to his knowledge. With his back to you, he misses the obnoxious face you pull, though he does have to wonder why Karn suddenly begins to snicker.

-------------------------------------

You can't ignore the strange feeling that the Guardian has been awaiting your return as you all stroll across the courtyard and between its legs before coming to a stop in front of it once again. 

No lights bloom in the construct's carved-out eyes sockets, but in contrast, the heart stone begins to pulse with a dazzling, blue light, as if it knows its purpose is just moments from being served and its host is finally, finally within reach after centuries spent apart. 

There's also a sense of anticipation in the air whilst you wait for Karn to raise the stone from his shoulders. 

“So... what happens now?” you ask, wondering how you're ever going to scale the Guardian to fit the first heart stone in place. 

All you get in response is a secretive smirk from Karn and a whisper of, “Watch.” He doesn't tarry any longer though. 

Lifting the stone into two hands and heaving it over his head, the maker offers it up to the Guardian, and while at first you regard his antics bemusedly, your jaw promptly drops open when the stone is simply lifted out of his hands by an unseen force.

It floats gracefully through the air and eventually slows near the construct’s left shoulder where it snaps into a carved hollow and seals itself in place with a flash of dazzling light. 

“Magnets?” you blurt out, so busy trying to rationalise what you're seeing that you momentarily forget the magical occurrences you've already witnessed. “Sadly, no,” Death sighs, “Only magic, Plain and simple.”

It's a strange reality you've found yourself in where magic is considered run-of-the-mill.

At the look of of perplexity on your face, the Horseman snorts and jerks his head towards one of the remaining doors you haven’t tried to enter yet.

“Shall we?”

-----------------------------------------

“Okay. Let's try again. Ready, Karn?”

Death's thumb and forefinger reach into the sockets of his mask and he indulges himself in a moment of massaging his twitching eyelids. As much as he's privately grateful that Karn had set you upon his broad shoulder after you started falling behind, he wishes you hadn't taken it as an opportunity to entertain the youngling by teaching him one of your juvenile 'earth games.'

Keeping to the head of your bizarre group, the Horseman tries to focus on the twisting cavern path that stretches out ahead, eyeing the corruption that grows from its walls in the form of pustule-yellow crystals, each one oozing rivers of glistening, black liquid. He picks his way carefully around a puddle of the vile substance and tosses his head over a shoulder to check that Karn is keeping his eyes peeled as well. 

A scowl darkens his glare when he notices that the youngling barely gives the puddle a fleeting glance and just steps lazily over it in one, gigantic stride before returning immediately to the human on his shoulder. 

You have an arm stretched out before you, fingers curled into a loose fist and after regarding your appendage closely, Karn lifts his hand and does the same. Giving him an approving smile that turns his ears beet red, you begin yet another round of the strange game, exclaiming, “Rock, paper, scissors, GO!”

On the word go, your fist bursts apart and you thrust it in the maker's face, your fingers pressed together and held flat like the 'paper' you're trying to emulate. At the same time, Karn lifts his bulky arm and holds his own fist up for you to see, earning himself an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, now I think you're just letting me win.”

Perplexed, the maker lowers his hand and frowns down at it. “How come I lost that time?” he asks.

“Because!” you laugh, “That's the fifth time you've chosen rock!”

“Aye, 'cause rock's the strongest,” he retorts matter-of-factly, crossing his arms and tipping his chin back.

“That's not – I mean, that isn't really how the game works.” Pausing to chuckle at the absurdity of explaining the logic of such a simple game to someone who'd never even heard of scissors five minutes ago, you continue, “Okay, so the rules are, scissors cut paper, paper covers rock, and rock breaks scissors.

“Aha!” The maker's exclamation is so abrupt, you can't help but flinch as his head whirls sideways to look you in the eye. “There, you see? Rock breaks scissors! Rock's stronger!”

“Yes, but I didn't choose scissors, I chose paper,” you explain, patiently.

“....But... rock could just tear through paper!” The pitch in Karn's voice raises a little alongside his mounting confusion, prompting Death to finally interject.

“Perhaps, Y/n, it would be sensible to stop this game before the amount of brainpower it requires to play literally kills the Pup.”

Sticking out his lower lip, Karn glowers at the ground, but the quick pat you give his neck is enough to put the maker's smile back in place. “Don't worry,” you assure him, “There are plenty of other earth games I can teach you.” 

“All of which will have to wait, I'm afraid,” Death quickly interjects, shuddering at the prospect of another minute spent listening to Karn fail to grasp even the most basic of concepts, “Whilst I understand that you two are having... ugh, fun, we can't afford to lose focus in this place.”

Like a switch has been flipped, whatever good mood had taken hold of you is promptly snuffed out. 

'...Fun?...' 

Something uncomfortable accompanies that word. It hits you more jarringly than it logically should, and your laughter tapers off to an uncertain chuckle, which in turn becomes a smile that fades slowly until an invisible weight settles itself over your heart and wipes any semblance of enjoyment clear off your face. 

'I'm having fun...' 

It doesn't seem... correct, somehow. Fun implies an instance of happiness. ...And happiness... Well. The term sits like a bad taste in your mouth and you can hardly believe it took the Horseman’s throwaway comment to draw your attention to it. You can't be happy, can you? How can you be happy after...

A ball of anxiousness starts to form in your stomach. 'Y/n,' your horrified mind seems to whisper, accusing and cold, 'Are you getting over them so quickly?'

“Oi?”

 Your leg is given a gentle shove and you flinch, startled to see Karn's finger slowly pulling away. He has his sights set on you, his jaw hanging open in a way that radiates concern and when you  flick your eyes ahead for a second, you notice that Death's head is twisted to the side, just enough to give you a glimpse of white bone behind his ebony hair.

“You okay? We lost you there for a moment,” the maker urges, quietly adding, “...again.” 

It comes far too easy, the knee-jerk reaction to throw yourself into an overenthusiastic response. Kicking your heels against his shoulder, you huff out a quick laugh that grates at your ears. “I'm still here, buddy. Just thinking about how you and the others are going to react to Monopoly.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“Seriously, Karn,” you chirp, the grin stretching at your lips uncomfortable and awkward, “I'm fine.” 

God, isn't that just becoming easy now? Far easier than it ever used to be. 'I'm fine' rolls off your tongue like a lie that you're desperate to convince yourself is in fact, a truth. Still, it at least seems to have placated your gigantic companion, whose smile has returned within moments of seeing your own, so ready to accept that his friend really is okay. 

Or perhaps, he's just desperate to believe it, like you are. You wish Eideard was just as difficult to lie to, thinking back on the conversation you'd had with the Old One in Tri Stone yesterday. 

Stalking ahead, Death is once again turned away from you, but you aren't sure if he's ever been an easy man to fool.

The network of vast corridors finally come to an end as you turn another corner to see dull, grey daylight pouring in up ahead.

With you still sitting astride his shoulder, Karn follows the Horseman through an arched entryway and out into a spacious, grandiose courtyard, where you're pleasantly surprised to note that the rain has finally started to let up, leaving you all doused in little more than a light drizzle. 

Shielding your eyes, you squint up at the blanket of clouds overhead and spot the pale suns hiding behind them, trying to break through. You appreciate their effort, but the courtyard is still bucolic without the suns' rays shining down on it.

Like its sister, the stone is held fast to the gazebo's roof by a great, metal claw. “How come you makers all put the heart stones in such hard-to-reach places?” you gripe, raking your gaze over the area to search for anything that might be lurking in the shadows, unaware that Death has already done the same and found the coast is clear. 

Karn's boots splash through puddles as he stomps after the Horseman and replies, “If a maker lives long enough, their soul gets too old to pass through the Well. N'when that happens, they'll seek out an empty vessel - like a heart stone. And what would you do if you had your hands on a stone that held a human's soul, hm?” 

You consider the question carefully for a moment, then lift your arm in a shrug. “I... guess I'd try and keep it as safe as possible?” 

“Exactly!” Karn grins, snapping his fingers, “Those heart stones ain't just powerful artefacts – they carry the life force of our ancestors. We keep 'em up high like that for their own protection. S'a way to stop wee beasties from scratchin' em up, and the like.” 

Up ahead, you fail to notice that Death's fingertips are creeping up to gently touch at the wound on his chest. He ascends the steps into the gazebo and comes to a halt directly beneath the suspended heart stone, tipping his head back to regard it pensively with half of his attention on the surrounding area whilst the other half idly hones in on the faraway voices that whisper in the dark recesses of his mind. To quiet them, he brushes his fingers over the amulet's remains that are imbedded in his skin, just above the spot where his heart used to beat. 

Suddenly, the Horseman is yanked from his thoughts by a loud splash and a cold spray of rainwater spattering on his leg. Cranking his neck around slowly, he glares hard at the human who has appeared unexpectedly next to him.

Evidently, Karn had lowered you down from his shoulder and – like a human would – you'd elected to jump the last few feet to the ground, landing squarely in a puddle beside Death. The Nephilim's icy glare has you ducking your head and pressing your lips together.

“Pup,” he growls, never taking his eyes off you, daring you to let a grin slip onto your face, “Come over here. I'm going to need another boost.” 

The young maker strides forwards, raising his boot as he passes you and giving it a threatening jerk towards the puddle you're standing in, causing you to let out a gasp and leap backwards, shooting him a playful glare once you're safely out of the splash zone. 

Showing off his tusks, Karn stops at Death's side and offers his hand. It shouldn't have been a surprise that the Horseman gives it a dirty look before he eventually steps onto the glove, his pride taking yet another hit. Karn however, is beaming from ear to ear as he lifts Death up past his head, more than likely glad to be of help. 

The Horseman's scowl recedes ever so slightly at the young maker's expression and with a bit of difficulty, he manages to swallow some of his pride and dips his head in an almost imperceptible nod, as close as he'll ever come to admitting thanks. He doesn't see the maker's reaction, but he does feel Karn bounce excitedly on the balls of his feet, prompting him to turn his eyes skyward and heave a sigh as he sends his phantom appendage up to snag the heart stone.

As soon as the maker's hand is free, he shifts his gaze down and sweeps it across the ground at his feet, heart rate spiking when he doesn't immediately spot you nearby. Opening his mouth to call out, he raises his head and suddenly, your name catches in his throat. 

It turns out you haven't wandered far at all. You've only moved several steps away and turned your back on the maker, currently busy staring down at your reflection in a puddle. Curious, but erring on the side of caution so as not to startle you, he carefully leans sideways and tries and get a look at your face, hearing the telltale ‘shing’ of scythes being drawn above him. 

Your eyes are heavy-lidded, yet they remain transfixed upon the water, its placid surface casting a grubby and hazy reflection back up to you, and Karn wonders what you must be seeing in there that has caused your face to grow so haggard. 

Are you merely seeing yourself? From his angle, all he can see is the vague shape of a human.

Just then, a loud clang shatters the peace of the moment and you suck in a gasp, snapping to attention once more.

Death raps his scythes mercilessly against the heart stone until it comes loose from its metal bindings and plummets to the ground just as the first had, causing Karn to grimace at the treatment. Whoever's soul has inhabited the stone, he only hopes they don't take umbrage. 

“Well, Pup,” Death grunts as he drops down beside it again, bending his knees as he lands, “I believe you know the routine by now.”

Brushing a thumb under his nose, the maker nods and waddles over to hoist the stone up into his grasp whilst the Nephilim begins to head back the way you’d all come from, only faltering in his step when he finds you staring down into the puddle once more.

Karn doesn't notice this time. He's too focused on digging some dirt out of the heart stone's notches with the tip of his forefinger and then using the back of his hand to sweep it clean.

It's only when you finally speak up, your voice quiet and subdued, that he tips his head towards you and begins paying close attention. 

“Can... can I tell you guys something?”

“Well, o' course you can!” Karn booms eagerly. In contrast, Death merely spares you a curious, sideways glance.

Picking absentmindedly at a nail on your left hand, you try to speak, only to find the words aren't coming as easily as you thought they would, so you let your jaw fall shut again and swallow thickly before making another attempt. “It's just something that's, uh, well, it's bothering me. I feel guilty about it, but – Christ, I hope you guys don't think less of me for saying this but – I think I… I'm actually having a -.... a good time?”

The heavy weight of their stares presses upon you until, after a moment, Karn's face brightens and he announces, “Well that's great,” moving the heart stone further up his shoulder so he can beam down at you, obviously failing to see why your having a 'good time' might be causing you distress.

“No, it's not, Karn! It’s wrong.” Sighing roughly, you rake your hands through your hair and try to explain in a way the young maker would understand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, I just... I’ve been feeling a bit guilty lately.”

“Guilty?” he asks, “For havin’ fun?” 

“No, no. Well, kind of but... I mean, It’s only been a few days. How can I be feeling happy after losing so much? It just doesn’t seem....” Fishing your hand through to air as if you might pull the right words out of nowhere proves futile and you eventually give up, letting your hand drop back to your side. 

“...Right?” Death's voice flutters into your ear and you pull your gaze up off the ground to stare at the swaying, ebony hair in front of you, uncertain whether he'd intended for you to hear him.

All the same, you answer. “Yeah... Exactly.” 

You fail to notice that Death's jaw has set into a hard line, teeth clenched tighter than a vice underneath his mask.

The Horseman remembers vividly how he'd been nigh inconsolable the day he took Absalom's life. His own brother... Every fibre that made up his wretched, twisted body had come alive with a rage unlike anything he'd ever known. 

Creator... He'd been so angry - at the Nephilim, at Absalom, at the Charred Council and his siblings... It had taken centuries before he'd been ready to admit that all he was doing was distracting himself from the real target of his ire. Death always liked to believe he was above falling victim to guilt, yet there it was – still is, in fact - settled in his chest like shards of glass, and no matter how much time passes - centuries, eons or a hundred thousand years – it will never be enough for the Horseman to escape the shadow that guilt casts upon him. 

It bears no significance how often he tells himself that his shame is foolish and unnecessary, that he and his brothers and sister did what had to be done. The Nephilim could not go on the way they were. They had to be destroyed, or else the rest of Creation wouldn't have survived. 

They had to be. 

In moments that are few and far between, Death catches himself wondering what his un-life would have been like if someone else had taken up the mantle of 'Kinslayer.' No, he doesn't regret what he did. He would never choose to go back and change the past... But that doesn't spare him from experiencing the residual shame of what he'd had to do, even so many years down the line. 

He almost envies you, in a way. 

How easy had it just been for you to admit that you're haunted by guilt? What kind of bravery is that and where in the nine hells had it even come from? How could you say – out loud – something that had taken Death centuries to even admit to himself? 

Well, at least in that regard, you're less of a coward than he is.

“It sounds as though you’re clinging to guilt,” he murmurs.

His words strike you hard in the chest. “Clinging?” you echo, “Death, I don’t like feeling guilty!”

“No,” he concurs, patient as ever, “But you don’t like feeling happy either. Because feeling happy makes it seem as though you’re coping. And feeling you’re coping is almost worse, because who could possibly be coping after they’ve lost so much?”

The Horseman’s question is rhetorical, you know, yet still your mouth falls open to respond, though you soon find nothing emerges other than a silent breath in place of words. When you don’t offer up a reply, he turns to the entrance and tilts his head over a shoulder, regarding you from the corner of his eye, adding, “You think being happy after a tragedy makes you a bad person?” 

Swallowing down past a thick lump in your throat, you give a hesitant nod. 

“Well...” he huffs, “From what I’ve seen, I think I can safely attest that you’re not.”

“Definitely not,” Karn agrees with a decisive bob of his head. 

You have to blink hard a few times to chase away the tears that threaten at the back of your eyelids. “Thanks, guys... Doesn’t make me feel any less guilty though.”

“And it likely never will,” Death says matter of factly. 

“That’s a bummer.” 

The human colloquialism is lost on him but he gets the gist of your expression and lets out a soft snort before he replies, “Perhaps. But grief and guilt do become easier to bear.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“Well, maybe not for a long, long time, and perhaps, every so often, they will rear their heads and strike with a vengeance, but it does get easier, because you will learn to live alongside it. I’ve seen it time and again in humans. You’re nothing if not a resilient little species. You will live with anything, if you give yourselves time to learn how.”

And with that, he faces forwards again and begins the long trek back across the courtyard to the tunnels that brought you here. It isn’t long before you catch up to him and keep stride for a few paces, followed, as always, by the loyal maker at your back.

“Huh... thanks, Death,” you smile earnestly up at him. The heaviness hasn’t shifted at all from your chest, but you find that it isn’t quite as difficult to carry as it had been moments ago. “I think that’s one of the most comforting things you’ve said to me yet.” 

“Hmph. Yes. Well,” he grumbles, “Don’t get used to it.”

---

With the second heart stone offered up to the Guardian and sealed into place, the three of you turn your attention to the third and final tunnel - the one you’ve yet to travel down, and not least because, emanating from the entrance is an eerily familiar, yellow glow. 

Still, with little other option, the three of you gradually make your way through the open doors and find yourselves in a lower subsection of the Foundry. Karn is almost suffocatingly close to you, causing even the maker-intended tunnel to feel cramped and claustrophobic, although you have to admit that having a giant walking so near to your heels does leave you feeling adequately protected from behind, that is, until you come upon a relatively small, nondescript chamber. Or, it would be nondescript and wouldn't even particularly stand out from many of the Foundry's other chambers had it not been for the dozens upon dozens of corrupted, crystalline growths that burst like a fungus from every, available surface. 

Death's eyes narrow upon them. “Stay close,” he warns, leading the way down the narrow staircase and keeping as far from the crystals as he can, more for the sake of the two younglings behind him than any sense of self-preservation.

He hardly needs to tell you twice.

The light from those terrible growths of corruption almost seems to burn at your skin as you pass them, and for a moment, you begin to wonder if it's radiation that causes the unnatural glow. Then, you decide you don't know enough about chemistry and put it from your mind. There are far more pressing matters to worry about, after all.

“Death?” you hum, feeling the familiar, winding knots of unease begin to coil around in your stomach. 

The Horseman's eyes zero in on a dead construct sitting slumped in one corner. “Stay close,” he growls, but even then, he reaches a hand backwards and blindly grabs the hem of your shirt, tugging you until you're very nearly stepping on the heels of his boots. 

On an unspoken whim, Karn closes the distance to an even more claustrophobic degree. 

Dangling from a clamp set into the ceiling overhead just like its brethren, you spot the third and final heart stone, and from just one glance, you know you'd been right to worry about things that come in threes. 

“Uh, isn't that supposed to be blue, like the others?” you ask, nodding towards it.

“Aye.... It is,” Karn mutters darkly, ears flattening to his head, “There's somethin' very wrong with this one...”

The heart stone glows the same, pus-like yellow as the crystals growing all around it. Black gunk oozes from within it, dribbling down the patterns carved into its surface until each rivulet converges right at the stone's pointed tip, forming one, big globule of corrupted liquid. Eventually, it grows too large and you watch in horrified disgust as it finally relinquishes its hold on the stone and drops to the ground with a loud, wet 'Plop!'

“Ew,” you declare. 

“At least this stone doesn't require that I use you as a springboard, Pup,” Death remarks, rolling his shoulders and lifting his arm towards the ceiling.

Recognising the steadily increasing glow emitted by the gauntlet around his wrist, you dart out a hand and snatch his arm back, earning yourself a fearsome glare in return. With the Horseman's golden eyes boring down into you, your nerve begins to waver until you eventually pull away, yet the question bubbling up inside your throat still manages to find its way out. “What are you doing!?” you blurt, “The stone's corrupted!”

“I can see that,” Death coolly replies, making to raise his hand once more before he catches the fleeting look of alarm that you send up at the maker beside you. Sparing you a brief sigh, Death forces his glare to soften, if only a fraction. “Y/n, if we stop here, we'll have come all this way for nothing.” 

“But if we put that thing in the Guardian, something could go wrong!” The Horseman subjects you to his most uncompromising glare, one he's often been driven to use on his petulant siblings. 

“And if we do nothing, then nothing will change. Corruption will continue to spread across the Forge Lands, Tri Stone may eventually fall, and we'll be no closer to the Tree of Life.”

“But-” Hesitating, you chew on your lip and glance up at the maker. “- But Karn will have to carry it... You said we shouldn't let Corruption touch us!” 

Death's expression turns grave and you can see the pinch of his brow, hidden as it is beneath his mask. “I know,” he admits quietly, “It’s a risk. But unless you can think of another way to get it to the Guardian -” 

“I don't mind carryin' it!” Karn interrupts, jabbing a thumb into his own chest, “Corruption'll have a tough time gettin' under this thick skin.” 

You tip your head back to look up at him, worry laying heavily across your brow. “But, Karn-” 

“Oi, don't you go worryin' about me.” The unexpected gentleness of Karn's voice is anything but typical and reminds you more of the dulcet tones you might hear from the soft-spoken shaman, not your zealous and excitable young friend. “I'll be all right.”

Helplessly, you turn a pleading look onto Death, but you find no reassurance in the Horseman's calm and enigmatic eyes. 

Your acquiescence comes in the form of a resigned sigh, and once he's satisfied you won't protest further, Death hums approvingly and raises his hand once again towards the heart stone.

It seems so baffling to you that the ghostly appendage that flies from his gauntlet can be so strong and solid. Long, skeletal fingers latch easily onto the stone's uneven surface and clamp down, hard, seconds before Death is pulled up towards the oozing stone and clings to it, withdrawing his scythe. 

As he knocks the stone loose of its clamp, you can do little but hold your breath and watch, hands jumping into closed fists when it suddenly crashes to the ground with a dull but tremulous 'whump!' and a moment later, Karn is using the back of his gloved hand to nudge you away from it, giving him enough room to step protectively between you and the corrupted heart stone.

Death drops down to the earth beside it and moves around the maker, keeping a close eye on him whilst he bends down and slides his hands around the stone, braced and ready to react should anything begin to happen. After a few moments of regarding it as though he expects it to spring to life at any second, Karn sets his jaw and with a strained grunt, he hefts the cumbersome load up and settles it upon his shoulder. 

The tension in the chamber is thick and oppressive enough that you can almost feel it lend a heaviness to the breaths that enter your lungs. Whatever time-stream this realm rides upon seems to grind to an abrupt halt and you're all left in perfect stillness, watching.... waiting.....

… But nothing happens. 

One of Karn's eyes cracks open, having been squinted shut after he first touched the heart stone, and he glances down at himself, letting out a muted 'oh,' of surprise. 

“There, you see? He's fine,” Death tells you, “Now, let's get this stone back to its host.” 

Barely needing to be told twice, Karn begins to pick his way around the crystal growths and heads back toward the entrance whilst you and the Horseman walk in line with one another, following his path.

“So,” Death starts, folding his hands behind his back, “Are you learning to trust me yet?” 

“I already trust you, Death. I mean, it took a while but, I am there.” You're too busy admiring the broken construct you pass by to notice the shock that flashes across Death's eyes. 

You trust him?... 

And you really think a few days is a while? 

He drags his gaze off your face and elects to frown pensively at the straps of Karn's boots. At his silence, you continue, “Just because you trust someone doesn't mean you don't think they can be wrong sometimes.”

The old Nephilim huffs, uncertain of whether he should be insulted that you think he makes mistakes, or impressed at the philosophical side to your argument. After all, he himself would trust his siblings, but is more than aware that they're capable of erring from time to time. 

Appraising you thoughtfully from the corner of an eye, Death opens his mouth to accuse you of spending too much time around the puzzling and sagacious Eideard when, all of a sudden, Karn lets out a startled cry, disturbing the relative peace that's fallen over you.

Yelping his name, your eyes snap up to the maker, whereas Death's immediately land upon the reason for his alarm. 

From deep within the heart stone, Corruption's hideous consciousness had sensed a fresh, unwitting host, and temptation spurred it to send an insidious part of itself forth in search of the body it yearns to inhabit.

Blood rushes into your ears at the sight of the black, oily tendrils that stretch out of the heart stone and you barely register that you've taken several steps towards Karn before a hand is suddenly hauling you back and you soon find yourself gaping up at the bristling shoulders and jutting spine of a predatory Horseman. 

However, much to your shock and dizzying relief, Corruption’s target isn't the youngling. 

The heart stone lurches in Karn's grasp and he digs his fingertips into its callouses to keep it steady as the tendrils detach from their main cluster and drop to the ground near his feet. Rankled, the maker back-peddles up the steps and away from the writhing mess of darkness, whilst all you can do is watch from behind Death's guarding arm as corruption slips and gurgles its way across the room like a grotesque slug, heading straight for the broken-down construct slumped in the corner.

By the time Death realises its intent, he's too late to stop it. 

The flailing ball of corruption reaches up with its tendrils and slides them underneath the stone plates that make up the construct’s chest.

“What is that thing!?” you exclaim. 

When Karn takes in the pieces of stone on the ground, his face turns pale and he sucks in a sharp breath, his stomach sinking like a stone. “It... it’s a custodian,” he utters, his horror lending to your own. 

“Karn!” Death barks, and you suddenly find yourself grabbed yet again and shoved none-too-gently towards the young maker, “Get her out of here!” 

Acting swiftly, Karrn drops the heart stone and dashes back down the steps, clumsily curling his fingers around your torso and ushering you back to the entrance, away from the shuddering custodian. 

A pair of brutally strong hands that look well-equipped to dish out some serious, blunt-force trauma pound into the earth, gripping fistfuls of stone as the thick and undulating strands of corruption knit the broken body back together. The arms are first, dragged across the ground and slotted into the shoulders whilst a blocky head is set into a round, open cavity on top of the custodian's torso, which in turn, is lifted onto the last component; a rotating, stone sphere. 

Suddenly, the crevasses where its eyes would sit fill with the sickly yellow light you've come to know so well, and they lock straight onto the Horseman, who stalks backwards further into the room, deliberately drawing the construct away from you and Karn.

With his quarry's attention fixed wholly on him, Death whips out his scythes and splays his shoulders out wide, offering himself up as a challenge, though you can't help but think that bait would be a more appropriate term. Eerily, the hulking beast doesn't utter a sound from its stony maw, it merely pivots its body towards Death and begins to roll like a charging bull across the room, carried by its spherical base. 

It reaches him and rears itself back, arms thrust high over his head, ready to pummel the Nephilim back to dust. You're ashamed of the way his name leaves your lips in a helpless, desperate cry.

Less than a second before he's flattened however, Death strafes expertly to the side and skirts around the custodian, leaving mere inches of space in his wake as its fists obliterate the ground where'd he'd been standing. 

Lightening-quick, the Horseman strikes out at its exposed back, though it doesn't stay exposed for long. 

The custodian's size and weight give the impression of a creature that should be slow, it's movements cumbersome, yet the ball that bears its mass allows for a much broader range of movement. Namely, within a split second, the custodian whirls around on its axis to face Death, swinging its arm out in a wide arc, a move that would have bowled him clear off his feet had he not leapt back out of the way in time. 

Even from halfway across the room, you can hear the growl of frustration that escapes from underneath his mask as he makes another attempt to get close enough to the wildly swinging construct to even land a single blow on it, yet every time you start to think he may have found an opening, he's sent careening back by a sweep from one of the custodian's fists. 

“We have to help him,” you realise after the construct once again bludgeons one of the yellow crystal growths to smithereens in an attempt to reach Death. Glancing up at Karn, you find him staring grimly out at the battle with his lips peeled back over gritted teeth and it soon becomes evident that he hadn't heard you. 

Jaw setting, you turn about and begin to falteringly make your way down the steps. No sooner have you made it to the bottom than Karn suddenly snaps to attention and he lunges after you, throwing out a hand and slamming it to the ground right in your path, blocking the way forward. “What're you doin!?” he barks, frantic, “You tryin' to get yerself killed!?”

“We have to help him, Karn!” You attempt to sidestep his hand, but the maker is persistent, moving to stop you wherever you go. Grabbing his leather-bound thumb, you pull yourself up onto your toes and peer over the appendage, catching sight of Death just as he deflects a particularly savage blow that sends him skidding backwards for several yards until he's able to regain his balance. 

Now borderline hysterical, you cry, “He can't do this alone!” 

“He's Death! He's always done things by himself!” 

Even as Karn speaks, a foul curse is spat from the Horseman's mouth as he tries and fails to sever the beast's hand as it makes a clumsy grab at him. You twist your neck around and peer up at the maker behind you, causing his heart to thunk down into his stomach when he sees tears welling up in your eyes. 

“He shouldn't have to, though,” you utter, your fingers curling tightly into his glove, “Please, Karn?” 

The youngling stares back at you. There's not a force in the universe that could move him to action quite like the sight of your tears. Hesitating for all of a second, he sets his mouth into a determined line and his eyes grow as hard and unyielding as the stone underfoot. 

“I'll help 'im. You stay here,” he growls, nudging you back and standing to his full height. 

You get the impression that he's not asking. 

Death's scythes are battered by the custodian's fist yet again, though they still hold strong, even as their wielder's patience is quickly wearing thin. Unleashing a furious growl, the Horseman holds his ground, his back to the staircase as his assailant rolls like an unstoppable steam train towards him, its arm raising high into the air. 

Unfortunately for the corrupted construct, due in part to its one-track mind, it's so focused on Death that it doesn't even see the new and far larger threat barrelling in its direction.

There's a gut-wrenching instance in which you're convinced that Karn has entered the fray too late, and the Horseman will surely be unable to counter the coming strike. As the custodian's fist begins to descend, Death braces himself, crossing his scythes in front of him and wondering why he's been unable to call upon his Reaper form during this fight. 

All of a sudden, something enormous whooshes past his mask, and from the corner of an eye, he sees a hammer, swinging up through the air to meet the construct's downward swing in a head-on collision that throws the enormous beast off balance and, more pressingly, away from Death. Momentarily stunned, the Nephilim risks a quick glance up to see Karn standing beside him, rolling his shoulders. 

“What do you think you're doing?” Death hisses venomously, “I told you to get-”

“Suck it up, Horseman! She's right - You can't do this one alone.”

Curling his lip at the maker's snappish interruption and your insinuation, Death discovers that he has no time to retort because the custodian is suddenly upon them once more. 

Karn, although slower, is at least equipped to totter the construct on its axis with every swing of his hammer, and his addition to the battle allows Death more opportunities to get in close and tear a chunk of stone off its arms, back, anywhere that he can reach. 

Following only a few minutes of combat, it becomes clear that the speed and unrivalled agility of the eldest Nephilim, coupled with the sheer, brute strength of a maker is too much of a challenge, and the sinister force driving the custodian pauses, rolling its host back a few yards and assessing the threats ahead of it in search of a weakness, an opportunity, a chance. 

Karn and Death have planted themselves directly between you and the construct, the maker quivering with adrenaline and the Horseman just as calculating and cold as you expect him to be. 

Suddenly, the custodian's head stops swinging back and forth between the two and comes to rest with its yellow gaze pointed straight through the middle of them.

“Why's it just standin' there?” Karn rumbles, an uneasy feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach at the custodian's decidedly thoughtful pause. Next to him, Death's eyes are narrowed to thin slits as he considers the stone behemoth warily whilst it simply peers back, unmoving.

A sensation that he's still unaccustomed to hits him in the chest at full force when he finally realises what – or rather, who – the construct has turned its sights onto.

He's too late to shout a warning, or to try and stop it as the custodian suddenly explodes into motion and lurches forwards, hurtling straight for them and keeping its shoulders low like a battering ram, forcing both maker and Horseman to dive instinctively out of its way rather than risk being mowed down, just as it had planned.

Within a fraction of a second, Death is wheeling about, a cry of outrage lingering in his throat. Karn is quick to follow suit and the maker's entire face drains of all colour once he sees the disaster about to occur right in front of them. 

Corruption – fuelled by hate and spite – had spotted the group's vulnerability, and they had just stepped aside to let it pass. 

Fear is not something that Karn ever likes to admit to feeling, but in that moment, watching you trip backwards up the steps and land painfully on your backside when the custodian careens towards you with hellish intent, the maker is certain he's never felt so afraid in his life. 

Deep below the crashing waves of fear however, there's something far more reactive bubbling to the surface. He's never been an especially aggressive maker, not in temperament at least. 

That all changes in a split second at the realisation that you're in imminent danger. 

Without even taking the time to think, the maker discards his hammer, leaving it forgotten in his wake in favour of charging after the custodian as though a fire has been lit underneath his boots. But even though he's running at a speed he's never reached before, down in a dark, frightened corner of his heart, Karn knows he's too slow to get there in time. That doesn't stop him from willing himself forwards though, a bellowed shout of 'NO!' blasting from his mouth and a hand reaching out to you.

Behind him, the Horseman's own arm shadows his movements, lifting towards you as well. 

Death is aware of only two things. 

The first, his Reaper Form is suddenly trying to return with a vengeance, bucking against the magics that keep it shackled. And secondly, even if it manages to emerge, neither it nor the youngling will make it to you in time. 

He doesn't even register that he's sent out the mental command to his gauntlet, hardly notices the flash of purple light or the phantom hand that lunges forth and flies across the room towards you, long, disjointed fingers splaying out wide, reaching, stretching to their limits in a desperate attempt to win the terrible race. 

Scrambling futilely backwards and blind to everything but the construct bearing down on top of you, your mouth falls open, but no sound escapes, throat too tight with terror to even scream. There are fists as big as cars lifting high above you and all you can think about is how much the next few seconds are going to hurt. 

They do hurt. Just not in the way you'd expected. 

Pressure suddenly cinches around your torso and you don't even have a second to take a breath before the air is knocked from your lungs as you're ripped forwards violently, your head snapping back from the abruptness of the motion. You collide with something hard and cold that immediately curls itself around you, and when your head stops spinning and you can open your eyes again, you look up to see the underside of Death's chin. 

Confused as to how you've come to be in his grasp, you turn your gaze outwards and find yourself staring in horrified awe at the brutal scene playing out in front of you.

The custodian's fists had all but demolished the steps where you'd been sprawled mere moments ago and the beast appears just as confused as you are to find that you're not a blood-stain beneath its hands.

Without slowing for even an instant, Karn rams into the construct's back and digs his fingers into the grooves around its neck, wrenching it back and hurling it sideways into a cluster of crystals that shatter upon impact. You hardly recognise the youngling with the way his teeth are bared, revealing the real extent of his formidable tusks as he bellows resoundingly and unintelligibly, casting aside all decorum to bend down and engulf the custodian's head in his fists. 

With you pinned protectively against his heaving chest, Death tries to block the view with his arm, but you still manage to peer over the top of his limb, watching raptly whilst Karn squares his shoulders and gives the head a nauseating and vicious twist, wresting it clean off the custodian's shoulders and effectively severing the corruption from its host.

An awful screech turns your blood to ice, yet you still stare agape at the oily rivers that slide down the custodian's body and sink into the floor, followed moments after by crumbling remnants of limbs and stone plates that are no longer held together by tendrils of corruption. 

At last, the chamber falls still and quiet once more, save for Karn's guttural grunts and your tentative sigh of relief. 

Flexing his hands, the maker glares hatefully down at the mess and gives it a dismissive snort before he whips his head around to face you, his chest convulsing with every breath. Suddenly, the body curled over you begins to unfurl as Death straightens up again and lowers his arms, letting you take a shaky step out of them before you turn around to face him. 

The Horseman doesn't even bother to stop his eyes from darting over you from head to foot in search of any fresh injuries.

“So...” you croak, rubbing at the back of your neck where an ache has already begun, “That was-”

“-Close?” he guesses. 

“I was going to say terrifying, but yeah, it was pretty close.” 

Booming footfalls alert you to Karn's approach and you turn to meet him, only to be startled by a pair of gigantic hands that curl around you, hovering just close enough to keep you trapped amongst trembling fingers. 

“Are you all right!?” Karn blares, beads of sweat trickling down his forrid, “Did 'e hurt you!? Tell me you're okay!” 

He's still shaking as the last threads of rage seep out of his bones and you're quick to place a calming hand on his thumb, raising your voice to be heard over the maker's babbling. “Karn, I'm okay! Chill! Death pulled me out of the way in time.”

The youngling's ears remain plastered to his skull and he doesn't look even remotely reassured, his eyes roving up and down your body as though he expects to discover a hidden injury. 

After yet another near-death experience, you aren't quite sure where you find the capacity to crack a joke, but somehow, your lips manage to quirk up into a faltering grin and you say, “I-It's a good thing Death found that gauntlet, huh? It.. uh, it came in really handy back there.” 

You may have tripped over your words, it may have been awkward and clumsy and you may be subjected to a very unimpressed glare from the Horseman, but for the time being, your focus is on the crumbling maker in front of you. 

Karn's heavy breaths pause for a few seconds whilst he takes in your words, blinking at you with a perplexed frown. Then, he draws in a long, shuddering breath and expels it roughly again, his chest deflating as the warm air washes over your face until his exhale turns into a rough, throaty chuckle. “Ha... 'handy,” he grins. 

Not even Death's deadpan stare prevents your shaky, wheezing giggle, if anything, one glance at the Horseman and you dissolve even further, breathlessly leaning against one of Karn's hands. 

It's clear that the thrill of surviving another potentially fatal encounter has left you feeling giddy, something that Death can't fault you for, and in fact, he even lets a flicker of an indulgent smile bend the curve of his lips. Glancing up at him, you suddenly fall silent, peering at him as though he's sprouted a halo. “Death?” you say, incredulous, “Are you smiling?” 

Quick as a flash, his face drops into its usual scowl and he crosses his arms, cocking a hip and drawling, “And why on earth would I be doing something like that?”

Undeterred, you lift a finger and point to one corner of your mouth. “You smile with this side. Your left eye sort of half-closes and gets all wrinkly whenever you do it.”

To that, the Nephilim can't come up with a response, more-so because he's taken aback by the knowledge that you've obviously been watching him far more closely than he'd assumed. Fortunately for his pride, you don't press the matter and rather than wait too long for a response, you let out a hum and push yourself away from the maker's glove as he gets back onto his feet, giving you a clearer view of the now destroyed custodian. 

“Talk about putting the 'Karn' in 'carnage,” you say, appraising the pile of rubble before raising a brow at the youngling, who returns the look with a sheepish smile. 

“Aye, sorry 'bout that. Hope I didn't scare you none.”

“Don't worry, you didn't. It was weird to see you angry though.”

Pressing his lips together, Karn makes a sound at the back of his throat, something between a hum and a grumble. “Doesn't happen often,” he admits quietly. 

As the pair of you absently start to make your way back towards the entrance together, walking side by side, Death goes entirely unnoticed. He considers you both in silence, catching everything from the way Karn lazes into each step which gives you the chance to keep pace, to the lack of distance between you both, always staying within reach of one another... 

You make... rather good friends, he realises, stubbornly ignoring the pit that opens up in his stomach at the very thought, reminding him that he wouldn't know friendship if it came up and slapped him around the face. He might not be any kind of expert, but he does recognise it when he sees it. 

Earlier, when he had been searching for a way to open the fall gate, he had heard you through its thick stone, his keen ears picking up on the muffled conversation held between you and the maker when you thought yours' were the only ears listening.

You planned to stay with the makers. 

Well.... Fine.

Good, even.

The Forge Lands... will make an adequate home for you, Death can't help but privately admit. And the makers will be perfect guardians. Of course, he shall have to have a word with Eideard before leaving, to ensure that the Old one keeps you and Karn out of trouble, as much as he can. 

Yes... It's the perfect solution. You'll remain here with the giants, and Death can carry on, alone.

Karn will be happy to have you all to himself. Perhaps in time, you’ll actually even notice the way he looks at you.

“Death?” 

The Horseman blinks and looks up, tugged back to the room by the sound of your voice. You've stopped on the staircase and twisted around to face him even as Karn continues on to cautiously retrieve the heart stone. 

“Are you coming? Or are you just gonna stand there until the end of time?” 

With an air of nonchalance that only Death could summon, he shakes his thoughts away and saunters over to you, using his knuckles to prod you up the stairs once he reaches your side. 

“Get moving,” he grumbles, though the command has no real heat behind it, “I'd like to get this stone back to the Guardian before we run into any more surprises.” 

You're walking ahead of him, so he doesn't see your smile wither and die as you make it to Karn's side, the youngling already having reclaimed possession of the corrupted heart stone.

----------------------------

The heavens had once again split open during your short walk back to the courtyard and the rain drums mercilessly down on your heads as you all emerge from the tunnel and step out into the courtyard. Aside from nature’s downpour splashing noisily against the ground, your journey has passed in relative silence, although Death gets the sense that there are several, burning questions you're dying to vocalise, and he doesn't miss the surreptitious glances that Karn keeps sending your way, the maker's lip trapped between his teeth all the way back to the Guardian. 

Much, much too soon for your liking, you soon find yourself standing before the monstrous construct once again, your neck craned painfully in order to look up towards its head where, right in the space above its stony brows, there sits a hole, framed by a bronze surround which is obviously meant to house the heart stone laying across Karn's shoulders. 

The skin on your thumb is subjected to a vicious torment by your other hand as you absently pick at it until cold fingers suddenly wrap around your wrist and tug your hands apart. Sheepishly, you peer up at Death and tuck your thumb into the hem of your skirt, hiding it from view. After a few more seconds spent underneath the Horseman's chiding frown, you let out a sigh when he finally releases you and turns to Karn, who's teeth haven't stopped worrying at his lip. 

“Pup,” Death calls, causing the maker to give a start and whip his head down, releasing his welted lip in the process, “It's time.” 

The small puddle of dread that has been sloshing around in your gut ever since you arrived at the Foundry promptly turns into a flood that rises into your lungs and squeezes at your heart. 

As if he's fine-tuned to the same wavelength as you, Karn hesitates, furrowing his brow before twisting back to regard the heart stone and pressing his palm gently to its surface. You could almost swear the yellow light pulses in response, which makes you wonder how deep the connection really runs between these giants and the stones that supposedly hold the souls of their fallen brethren. 

“We've seen its work, Horseman,” the youngling says, his ears drooping as he speaks, “Corruption fair weeps from it. Maybe....” He falters, and when he looks down at you, you notice that his forehead is etched by worried lines. “Maybe Y/n's right. Maybe this ain't such a good idea.”

Death's head swivels from the maker on his right to the human standing to his left. Just like that, it dawns on him that he's amongst not one, but two younglings. 

“I have a theory,” he begins, impressed that the patience in his tone could match Eideard's, “The other two heart stones were pure. I'm wagering that their radiance will cleanse the third.”

After a pause, the youngling tips his head back to stare apprehensively at the Guardian. “Mayhaps.” 

“Not, uh.. Not that I'm any kind of authority on corruption and magical stones and whatnot,” you offer in the ensuing silence, “But have you ever seen what happens when you put a drop of ink in a glass of water?”

The Horseman lifts a brow, retorting, “I hardly think this is the time for -” 

“-The water doesn't turn the ink clear, Death,” you press, pleading. When he glances down, he notes that your hands are wringing together. “It's so often the other way around.” 

Surprised, he can't help but admit that your analogy raises a rather compelling argument, and a troublesome point. Yet even so, the plain and simple fact of the matter is that by choosing not to act, then the valley and perhaps even the whole realm will be condemned to a slow, but inevitable death. 

At least, if things change, there is a chance that they may change for the better. But first, the have to change at all. 

Death steels himself against the strangely affecting look you're giving him and he clears his throat, gently putting, “You both know that the greater risk is to do nothing.”

A somber moment passes between the three of you and you finally lower your eyes to the ground, conceding without uttering a word. 

Seeing your silent, if not reluctant acceptance, Karn too gives the Horseman a solemn nod and sighs, “Aye.” 

Without further ceremony, he steps forward and heaves the mighty stone from his shoulder, offering it up to the Guardian. 

Seconds later, your head snaps up when the stone is promptly ripped from his hands and shoots like a bullet up towards the enormous construct's head, propelled by whatever magic resonates underneath its surface. 

Teeth grit, you wince as the projectile crashes right through the wooden scaffolding and into its destined slot with enough force to jolt the Guardian in its struts, shaking the gigantic chains that keep its wrists secured to the Foundry walls. 

Immediately, golden light explodes from the stone, though it's soon drowned underneath a blinding, brilliant blue.

And then, your heart is thunking down into your shoes as the Guardian's colossal neck plates begin to rattle and at long last, the great beast raises its head, twin flickers of pale light bursting to life in the carved eye sockets. Its heart stone pulses in response with the same blue light and there is, for a moment, the brief hope that perhaps Corruption isn't strong enough to breath this construct's will. 

Suddenly, the entire world around you begins to shudder and shift and the air fills with the deafening sound of a mountain trying to move. 

Death's hand appears from nowhere and grabs your shoulder, holding you steady when you almost teeter sideways as the Guardian wrenches at the chains, straining against them until a thunderous CRACK rings out across the courtyard. 

To your horror, the rusted metal gives way completely, falling from the Guardian's wrists and crashing to the ground with one, final heave.

Over the din, you can hear Karn shouting excitedly. “The corruption has burned off like rain on a hot forge!” Beaming at Death, he exclaims, “You were right!”

However, one glance at the Horseman, and you can tell that the enthusiasm is far from shared. 

Death's fiery eyes narrow to slits as he looks up at the Guardian. 

Before you can ask what the matter is, he rasps a phrase that turns your blood to ice and sends panic sweeping through your veins. 

“I was wrong.”

You turn to meet Karn’s horrified gaze over Death’s head, the youngling’s expression perfectly conveying your own thoughts - at least those that consist predominantly of nonsensical screaming. 

Seconds later, you're clapping both hands over your ears to protect them. 

From somewhere deep in the Guardian's cavernous chest, there booms forth a roar so powerful, it feels as though a thunderclap has gone off right beside you.

Turning your focus up once again, you can't help but to gasp at the sight. No longer is the final heart stone shimmering with the blue radiance that the others share. Now, the unmistakable, yellow glow of corruption is prominent, drowning out any trace of blue, whilst thick tendrils sprout from within it. At an alarming speed, they grow larger and longer, so much so that in no time, they start to wrap themselves around the Guardian's neck and dig their pointed tips underneath its plating. 

One of the colossal arms gives an almighty shake, as though the beast is attempting to rid itself of the tendrils that are now snaking their way down to its elbow, coiling and spreading in every direction until a thick webbing of the stuff has engulfed its solitary hand. 

But tragically, whatever fight the construct might have put up was already over the moment the heart stone entered its head. 

Helpless, you can do nothing but stare and cover your ears against another, ear-splitting and haunting wail as the lights inside its eye sockets lose their pale hue and turn the colour of pus, flashing and flaring like a pair of suns on the brink of going supernova. 

You're so distracted by the somewhat mesmerising display of such an effective, parasitic takeover that you hardly notice the titanic leg moving towards you until it smashes through the stone and wood scaffolding built around it and hurtles straight for you, Death and Karn.

Dragging your eyes down to what can only be described as an entire tower speeding in your direction, you try to choke out a gasp and your brain chooses that moment to freeze up, failing to provide you with a direction in which to dive. 

Lucky then, that Death's brain is still functioning perfectly. 

Whilst you and Karn stare agog at your impending doom, the Horseman, driven by sheer instinct, throws his scythe out towards the youngling and a hand towards you. 

The weapon's edge curls around one of the straps on Karn's backpack, and at the same time, Death's fingers wrap around the neck of your top. 

Without a split second to spare, the Nephilim leaps backwards out of the Guardian's path and subsequently drags you and Karn right along with him. 

The maker lets out a grunt as he lands on his rucksack, whereas you find your spine hitting Death's chest when he falls to the ground beneath you, and not a moment too soon, as the construct's leg goes sailing over your heads before it pounds into the dirt again just a few, scant feet from where you all lay.

To you, the world had almost come crashing down on top of you. 

To the Guardian, it had done little more than taken its first step into the world for which it was created.

All around, pieces of debris continue to crumble and fall as it approaches the cliff walls that hem the Foundry in, walls that bear no obstacle for a creature that stands twice their height.  

Trembling against Death's chest even when he pushes himself into a sitting position, you stare after the Guardian, your teeth chattering to witness it step over the cliff wall like you'd step over a stick in your path.

The thunderous foot falls recede into the distance, and only then do you scramble to escape Death's hold and shoot up onto your unsteady legs, a sudden, awful realisation hitting you harder than a slap to the face. 

“I-It's – it's heading for Tri Stone!” you struggle out, your exclamation followed by Karn's accompanying cry of, “The others!”

The youngling doesn't hesitate. He breaks into a lumbering run, bee-lining for the courtyard's primary entrance without even glancing back to see if either you or Death are following. 

“Karn!” the Horseman barks.

“I have to go back!” the maker bellows in return, never slowing his gait, “I have to make sure they're alright!” 

Fatigue is blessedly exchanged for adrenaline and you're able to forget all about your aching body as you break into a run and start after your friend in stubborn spite of the instinct to sprint in the opposite direction. The Guardian is an impossible obstacle that you have no way of hurdling.

And still, you run. 

With a snarl of frustration, Death spits an old Nephilim curse and follows suit. For a human, you manage to kick up a bit of speed as you chase after Karn through the Foundry, a Horseman hot on your own heels.

Hitting the enormous, circular chamber, you almost think you’ve somehow gone the wrong way, but the chains hanging down from the walls and the lava spitting and bubbling below you are so, unmistakably familiar, you have to do a double take, roving your gaze across the room as you hurtle along the curved catwalk. When you notice the rather worrying change, you nearly stop dead in your tracks. 

“The hammer's gone,” you breathe, following Karn at a sprint through the doors, your voice raising in pitch until it's an alarmed shout, “Are you shitting me? The hammer! It – It took the hammer!”

Karn’s feet pound like thunderclaps against the stone ground whilst Death’s are hardly heard at all. However, the cold that chases the back of your neck is reassurance that he is there, always behind you, even when you burst through the Foundry’s main entrance and spill out onto the bridge.

Smoke plumes rise ominously from beyond Tri Stone’s outer walls and all you can do is keep running until the wind stings at your eyes and the icy rain hits your skin like tiny sparks of fire.