(Links to previous chapters in comments). The passageway narrowed, it twisted almost back upon itself, it shrank so the Hunter had to bend over and it slowly but surely sloped ever downward. [i]We need to see this.[/i] His Ghost's voice stopped him mid-step. There was an almost commanding quality to it and he felt himself subconsciously respond to that tone, wanting to immediately obey. [i]What is it?[/i] [i]Fork ahead. Fallen have taken the left, we need to go right.[/i] [i]We need to follow...[/i] [i]No[/i] The Hunter moved into a small alcove and opened his palm so his Ghost materialised. "I've never heard you say that" he whispered. "I have never heard you speak to me like this". "I have never needed to. I guide you, support you as you wield the Light of The Traveller. I - we - are instruments of that Light". The Ghost turned away from the Guardian, its lens eye rotating as it stared at the ground as if seeing through the stone. "I do not like what I sense from below. It feels...wrong. There is something wrong with the pool of Light I feel here and I - we - are obligated to investigate..." The Ghost span back to face him. "I've scanned our environment and there is something on the wall of the right passage. I need to see it". The Hunter regarded his Ghost for a moment. Until this moment he had thought of it as an extension of himself. Its thoughts slid into his mind to guide him and it welcomed its voice. It flooded his body with Light to heal him and he embraced its power. Hearing it speak individual needs, disagree with him and remind him of his duty reminded the Hunter that no matter how close their relationship, his Ghost was a separate and independent entity created by the Traveller that had its own concerns. That suddenly and deeply made him feel uneasy. "Ok", he said finally. "Right it is". The painted images on the wall were faint, but clearly recognisable. Stick figures, animal forms and strange shapes filled a space as high as the Hunter was tall and the same distance across. "I don't understand". "Aboriginal", the Ghost responded. "The Aboriginal people are the original inhabitants of this land. Extremely versatile, semi-nomadic. Their paintings were their stories". "What's the relevance Ghost?" the Hunter interrupted. "We need to be following the Fallen". Light flickered from the small machine as it scanned the wall. "The traces of metals in the rock indicate that these tunnels were manual mining attempts. This is an old passage. Very old actually. The ones above it are more recent, all pre-Golden Age though. These paintings are later, after the Darkness came. The Aboriginal people probably sheltered here". The Ghost turned to the Hunter. "They were hiding here whilst others were protected in The Tower", it said in a somber voice. "How many all over this world died hungry and alone not knowing or able to reach The Tower? How many could we not save?" Silence fell between the two, no words capable of answering or following such conjured images of suffering. After a moment the Ghost turned back to the wall. "So many stories are told. Ah, this is what I wanted to see". Its light washed over a particular area. "Here they tell of lights in the sky, burning clouds and what I assume to be thunder and lightning as far as the eye can see. The land buckling and heaving. Day turned to night, the sun was in the sky, but frost covered the land". "Ghost", the Hunter snapped irritably, "What does this have to do with why we are here? How can this help us?" "Right. Of course. It all sounds like extreme environmental disruption. The relevant part is that something was seen in the midst of it all. Something appeared in the chaos above here. No, wait. It [i]kept[/i] appearing. Yes, that's closer. If I am interpreting this correctly there was something in the storm that kept appearing and disappearing and then it fell..." "Ghost, what is it?" The small machine turned back to the hunter. "I think I know what is below us" it said in a hushed voice. It projected before it an image that was repeated in various sizes and angles on the wall. "I don't know what that is Ghost, you have to explain" the Hunter said shaking his head. "It fell here", the Ghost said. "It came down a few hundred meters from where we are now. The Aboriginal people came to the caves not only for shelter, but to find it". "What is it Ghost?" "It's a simple rendition, but the shape is quite accurate". As the Hunter watched, the painted image hanging in the air rotated and its borders thinned. It lengthened, some aspects swelled and detail was applied until the Hunter recognised it. "I think there is a Ketch buried here" the Ghost said as the image of the Fallen spacecraft span slowly in the air between them. Miskorix felt it in its chest. The sensation had slowly but steadily been growing as it had descended. From a dull infrequent ache, it was now a persistent sharp pain. [i]This is what killed the others[/i], the Dreg thought. It could see that the other Dregs also felt it, but they had been so broken by the rites accompanying their limb amputations that they did not say anything, just shaking their heads and muttering under their breath. Miskorix felt its own amputated limbs twitch. It had not suffered those rites, but had still lost its lower arms in order to survive. [i]And I will survive[/i], the Fallen thought. If it continued though, it knew it would die just like all the others. [i]Do I have any choice? I must get down there.[/i] It did not know what its Kell wanted here, but it was pretty sure what was below. It had searched years for it. It had meticulously planned events so that it would be here, creating this specific point in time from delicate words, pointed phrases, courageous actions and deplorable scenes. Every one a touch-point, every one a strand in the web. Every one taking it here. [i]To find I could die here.[/i] Miskorix ground its teeth together and it felt doubt for the first time in decades. [i]All of it could be for nothing. Everything could just die here with me.[/i] "The cavern is ahead, it will not be far", one of the Vandals said to the other. Miskorix did not know or care which spoke. It had come to know them both as well as it needed to and determined each to be worthless. The Dreg felt another twitch in its chest, but stood a little taller and walked a little faster. To win you often had to gamble and this was the biggest gamble it could do. Its life ebbed with each step, but hopefully its future soared in tandem. It had to see this through. [i]My time will come[/i], it promised itself even as it felt needles digging into its temples. [i]Patience.[/i]