Echoes of the Abyss: The Stone of Prushka and the Lost Arm - To the City of No Return—The Trembling Stone and the Hand Still Numb

The kitchen in Serenie, on the fifth layer of the Abyss, was always dim. An Everlight Stone—a relic embedded in the wall—cast a faint, pale blue glow over the damp air. Outside, the pipe carrying scalding water gurgled, and steam left the stone floor slick and glistening. Riko stood at the prep counter and cinched the brace on her left hand tighter. A thin metal frame and leather straps—a device to force her hand, whose fingers save her thumb would not move, into a fixed grip around the knife. She drew one deep breath. Her right hand took the handle; her left pressed down on the spine of the blade through the brace. The usual method. Half a year should have made it routine, and yet today her fingertips trembled for no reason. (It's fine. I managed yesterday.) She recited it silently and set the knife to the flesh of a shelled fish caught on the fifth layer. The blade slid with a slippery ease, peeling away thin, translucent slices. Her blonde braids, damp from the steam, clung to her forehead. Her large brown eyes were utterly serious, a small flame wavering behind her glasses. Her left hand had been numb ever since the poison of a Tamaugachi on the fourth layer. Only her thumb still barely obeyed her; the other four fingers would not move at her will. Even so, Riko had never stopped cooking. There was no reason to stop. In the pot, dried meat and seaweed simmered with phosphorescent mushrooms gathered on the fifth layer. The shelled fish's stock clouded white, and when she added salt and herbs, a nostalgic smell filled the whole kitchen. "...Smells good." She turned to find Reg standing in the doorway. Short, near-black brown hair, with a cowlick springing up at his crown. His amber eyes held a mechanical light, yet wavered with something unmistakably alive. He stood a head taller than Riko—about four foot eleven. His right arm was gone from the shoulder, and he cradled his load with his left alone. "Reg, perfect timing. Taste this for me." Riko scooped up broth with a wooden spoon and held it to Reg's lips. He tilted his head slightly, then cautiously took the spoon into his mouth. "...Delicious. Your cooking really is amazing, Riko." At his words, Riko's face lit up. "Right? I tried adding the shelled fish's liver today. The fish from the fifth layer are nice and fatty, so the stock comes out richer." As she spoke, she moved to pour the soup into a bowl. And then it happened. Her left hand jerked. The wrist that should have been locked in the brace convulsed against her will. The soup struck the rim of the bowl and splattered across the counter. "...Ah." For an instant, Riko froze. The scattered soup steamed on the countertop. The bowl in her right hand stayed tilted, half its contents spilled. (Again.) Something cold seeped through her chest. Reg hadn't noticed. No—he had noticed, and was pretending not to. That kindness stung, just a little. "Are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine. Just slipped a bit." Riko showed him a smile. She had gotten good at making those. Reg said nothing more and began wiping up the spilled soup with a rag. Watching his back, Riko quietly clenched her left hand. Her fingertips were cold and would not close. (Frustrating.) She murmured it in her heart. (So frustrating.) But she did not say it aloud. Saying it wouldn't change anything. Watching Riko from the corner of his eye, Reg tucked something heavy away inside his chest. (If only I'd noticed sooner, back then. If I'd been stronger, maybe Riko wouldn't have lost her hand.) His right arm was gone—cut off by Bondrewd in that desperate battle on the fifth layer. If he had fought better then, maybe Riko wouldn't be suffering the numbness in her left hand. No—he was the one who had brought her down to the fifth layer in the first place. Reg bit his lip as he wrung out the rag. For a while, silence filled the kitchen in Serenie. Only the sound of scalding water rushing through the outer pipes echoed. At last, Riko spoke. "Hey, Reg. Do you know where Nanachi is?" "Reading a book in the corner of the hideout a little while ago. With Miti's stuffed doll." "...I see." Riko gave a small nod. She wrapped the pot in cloth so the soup could be carried whole, and the two of them headed for the hideout where Nanachi was. The passages of Serenie still bore traces of the days when Bondrewd ruled—reliefs of the Narehate carved into the walls. Water dripping from the ceiling struck the flagstones in a steady rhythm. Serenie was a forward base built inside a vast crystal dome within an undersea cavern on the fifth layer, home to roughly forty resident delvers. Since Ozen had become its de facto administrator, the remnants of Bondrewd's relic research were being cleared away bit by bit. Even so, the scalding water and humidity of the fifth layer were beyond anyone's control, and the passage walls were always wet. "Riko, maybe you should rest a little." "I'm fine. This much is nothing." "But your hand..." Reg started to say it, then stopped. Riko turned and tilted her head. "What about my hand?" "...No, never mind." Reg looked away. Riko seemed a little puzzled, but she didn't press him. As they neared the corner of the hideout, Nanachi's voice drifted toward them. "...And so the witch who lived deep in the forest said, 'I will grant your wish. But in exchange, you must leave behind the thing most precious to you.'" The voice belonged to a small figure leaning against the wall, a stuffed doll on their lap, a book in their hands. Soft white fur covered their whole body, long rabbit-like ears, reddish-brown eyes. When Nanachi noticed Riko and the others, they slowly lifted their head. "Nnaa~, Riko and Reg. Isn't it a bit early for dinner?" "I made soup, so I thought we could eat together." Riko sat down beside Nanachi. On Nanachi's lap, Miti's stuffed doll was held with great care. The cloth was worn thin in places, the seams mended over and over. And yet the doll's face was smiling. "Miti loved books, after all." Nanachi said it flatly. Their voice carried almost no emotion. But deep in those reddish eyes, a profound loss lay quietly settled. Riko tried to say something, searching for words. But every word felt hollow, and in the end she said nothing. Instead, she held out a bowl of soup. "Here, Nanachi. While it's hot." "...Thanks." Nanachi took the bowl and sipped. "Delicious. Your cooking never changes, Riko." "Your sense of taste is numb, Nanachi, so you're not much of a reference." When Riko laughed, Nanachi's mouth softened, just slightly. As the three of them drank their soup, heavy footsteps came from down the passage. Thud. Thud. The floor trembled faintly. Riko raised her head; Reg tensed. "...Those footsteps." "Ah, it's Master." The moment Nanachi murmured it, a gigantic shadow emerged from the darkness of the passage. It was Ozen. She stood well over six and a half feet tall, her hair done up in an odd style to hide the scalp twisted by years of the ascent's strain. Her black eyes, holding a sharp, cold light, looked down at the three of them in turn. With a hundred and twenty copies of the First-Grade relic, the Thousand-Men Wedge, embedded throughout her body, she gave off a presence unlike any other among the White Whistles. And above all, there was her posture. Her back arched so extremely that it rose above her head. When eating or speaking with others, Ozen always took this unsettling stance—like a giant spider peering down at its prey. "Hoh. All gathered for a meal, are we. Must be nice." Ozen plopped herself down heavily before the three of them. The floor groaned. "Ozen! You're back from the surface?" Riko leaned forward, eyes shining. "Just now. I went up on business with the surface lot, and I ended up bringing back a troublesome souvenir while I was at it." "A troublesome souvenir?" Ozen drew a folded piece of paper from her coat. Yellowed paper, sealed with wax. "A message from Lyza." Riko's breath stopped. "From my mom...?" "Strictly speaking, someone who's been entrusted with Lyza's message came to the surface. I was asked to pass on the contents to you." Ozen unfolded the paper. On it, in her mother's handwriting—so familiar to Riko—were a few short words. "Wait for me at the bottom." That was all. Riko stared at the paper. Something hot welled up deep in her chest. Her mother was alive. And she was waiting at the bottom of the Abyss. "...Is that all?" "That's all. Same as ever—a woman who writes nothing that matters. Incorrigible." Ozen sighed. "But along with this message, I brought something else." She looked the three of them over in turn. "Apparently, on the sixth layer—the Capital of the Unreturned—there's a relic that can restore what's been lost." Riko's eyes went wide. "Restore... what's been lost?" "Aye. An arm for the one who lost an arm, memories for the one who lost memories, and life for the one who lost life... well, that part's no more than rumor." Reg's expression clouded. Unconsciously, he touched his right shoulder. There was nothing there. "There's no way something that convenient exists." "You're right about that. A relic that convenient wouldn't come for free." Ozen said it coldly. "The sixth layer is called the Capital of the Unreturned. The curse of the sixth layer is the loss of one's humanity. Stay too long and you lose yourself. On top of that, the Crystal Corridor is a maze—unauthorized intruders get lost before anything else. 'No one returns'—you understand what those words mean, don't you?" "...The ascent's strain, right?" "Indeed. The strain of ascending from the fifth layer and below is the loss of the senses. On the sixth, the loss of humanity. From the seventh down, they say it brings death. Time flows differently in the depths than on the surface, too. A few days on the sixth layer, and years may have passed up above. Will you go anyway?" Ozen's words were cold to the core. No coddling whatsoever. Riko bit her lip. But her eyes were still shining. "...I want to go." It was a small voice. But she said it clearly. "If I can get back what I've lost, I want to go. I want to see my mom, too. And maybe... maybe I can learn something about Prushka." At Riko's throat, the Life-Responding Stone swayed quietly. That night, Riko lay on her bed, unable to sleep. The residential quarters of Serenie were converted from the rooms once used by Bondrewd's praying hands. The crystal in the walls faintly reflected the light, and countless small scars remained on the ceiling. Riko lay staring up at it. (A relic on the sixth layer that restores what's been lost.) Her heart pounded. (If it's real, then my left hand, and Reg's right arm, and Nanachi's Miti...) That was when it happened. The stone at her throat began to tremble. Riko bolted upright. The Life-Responding Stone—the stone housing Prushka's soul—was vibrating faintly against her skin. "...Prushka?" Riko clutched the stone. It was warm, like someone's palm. Then, a voice. A voice that reached only Riko. "Riko... can you hear me...?" It was a thin, faltering voice. "Prushka! I can hear you! What is it? What are you trying to say?" Riko brought the stone close to her face and strained to listen. "...The sixth layer... go... but... be careful... that..." The voice cut off there. "Prushka! Please, let me hear more!" Riko gripped the stone tight. But it no longer trembled. "...Prushka." Riko pressed the stone to her chest. (Go to the sixth layer, and—be careful?) What had she been trying to say? The last words, she simply couldn't make out. "What were you trying to tell me...?" Her murmur dissolved into the damp air and vanished. Then she sensed a presence at the door. She turned. Ozen stood there, her extreme hunch unchanged, looking down at Riko from the darkness. "Ozen... just now, the stone..." "I saw." Ozen spoke quietly. "

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Episode 1

Name: Echoes of the Abyss: The Stone of Prushka and the Lost Arm
Author: Novelia

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