Kieran Winterstaff's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The trail thickened as Kieran moved deeper into the lab. It pooled in the corners where the floor tiles had cracked, thick and luminescent. She followed it past overturned benches and shattered glassware, her boots sticking slightly with each step. The smell grew stronger. The greenhouse sat at the back of the compound, its glass panels fractured and green with overgrowth. Vines had wound through the twisted metal frames, glowing faintly in the dim light. Kieran stopped at the entrance. The slime trail led straight through the doorway and disappeared into the tangle of plants inside. She stepped forward, careful not to disturb the broken glass scattered across the threshold. That was when something moved in the shadows and lunged. The plasmoid hit her shoulder before she could react, knocking her back against the doorframe. Its form shifted and rippled, translucent green shot through with veins of electric blue. It was screaming at her in a language she didn't speak, but then it switched, the words sharp and desperate. "Where is she? Where is the astral elf scum?" Its surface bubbled with rage. Kieran's breath caught. She knew exactly who it meant. Venus. The creature surged forward again, and Kieran raised her hands, not to fight, but to show she had nothing. She didn't speak. Couldn't. The plasmoid trembled, waiting for an answer she refused to give. It retreated after a long moment, sliding back toward the center of the greenhouse where a blackened well sat surrounded by scorched stone. The burn pattern spiraled outward from the rim, and green ooze dripped down its sides. The plasmoid hovered there, protective and frantic. Kieran took a slow breath and lowered her hands. She wouldn't give Venus up. Not to this creature, not to anyone. But now she knew Venus was being hunted, and that meant whatever Venus had been doing in Toleen's eastern quarter three days ago had put her in danger. Kieran turned and walked out of the greenhouse, leaving the plasmoid behind. On the ground near the entrance, half-buried in moss, she spotted a tarnished locket with clouded amber glass. She picked it up without stopping. The photograph inside was too faded to make out, but the chain was Venus's style. Kieran pocketed it and kept moving. She had a choice to make now, and she hated that it had already been made.