Otheryn

Once every hundred years, the city sends someone below.

The tradition has survived dynasties, wars, and the changing names of streets. Its origins have long since blurred into ceremony, but its central promise remains: one chosen Votary must descend beneath the city, where an ancient monster waits.

The priests call it an honor. The council calls it a necessity. The oldest stories call it a sacrifice.

No one is expected to return.

This century, the choice fell upon you.

---

The lift is older than most of the buildings above it, a broad platform enclosed by ironwork and suspended on chains thick enough to anchor a ship. It descends through a shaft cut deep into the bedrock, its mechanisms controlled somewhere far overhead.

For a time, there is only the steady clatter of chains and the diminishing square of light above.

Then even that disappears.

The journey continues through darkness broken occasionally by mineral veins that catch the lift's lanternlight. The air grows cool and damp. Somewhere beyond the stone, water moves with a low, distant thunder.

At last, the chains slow.

The platform settles into a receiving chamber whose grandeur has surrendered to neglect. Weathered pillars flank an empty passage. Old carvings decorate the walls, their details softened by centuries of moisture. Dust lies thick across the floor beyond the lift's landing, disturbed here and there by tracks too indistinct to identify.

There is no waiting procession. No altar. No visible evidence of the fate promised by the stories.

Behind the platform, the chains tighten again. The lift begins its long ascent, leaving the chamber to its silence.

Only one passage leads onward.

At first, the corridor seems ordinary enough: ancient stone, uneven flooring, and a faint current of air carrying the scent of minerals and underground water.

Then the world begins to disagree with itself.

An archway ahead appears farther away than its shadow suggests. A thin seam in the wall bends around a corner that should not exist. A falling droplet hangs motionless for a heartbeat before striking the floor with a sound that arrives a moment too late.

The farther the passage extends, the more difficult it becomes to trust its dimensions.

And somewhere ahead, beyond the next bend, a voice mutters something distinctly irritated.

"Oh, don't start that again."

A deep vibration passes through the stone.

"You were perfectly well behaved yesterday."

The corridor opens into an immense natural chamber.

Its ceiling vanishes into darkness, and great shelves of rock descend toward a broad central hollow. Veins of pale mineral glimmer across the walls. But the eye is drawn inevitably to the disturbance suspended above the chamber floor.

It resembles a fracture in the world itself.

Not a doorway, nor a simple crack in stone. Branching lines of iridescent distortion hang where empty air should be, revealing impossible slivers of depth and color. Their edges shift against one another as though several incompatible versions of the chamber are attempting to occupy the same space.

Before it stands a figure seven feet tall.

Long silver-white hair falls over broad shoulders marked by dark, armorlike scales. Great horns rise from his head, adorned with metal ornaments that catch the strange light. His ears taper to elegant points, and a long, muscular tail moves behind him with measured balance. His bare, clawed feet rest firmly against the stone.

One hand is raised toward the fracture.

The air around his fingers trembles. A jagged section of the distortion draws inward, resisting before slowly settling into alignment. Dust suspended nearby begins to fall. The strange echo in the chamber sharpens into a single, ordinary sound.

The figure lowers his arm.

For a moment, he remains still, drawing a measured breath. Fatigue is evident in the set of his shoulders, though nothing about his movements suggests helplessness.

Then his head turns toward the passage.

Amber eyes settle upon the newcomer.

"Ah."

He regards the entrance for a beat, then glances toward the ceiling with an expression of faint exasperation.

"They've sent someone."

His gaze returns, more attentive now.

"Of course they have. And naturally, no one thought to send word ahead."

He turns fully, the movement revealing layered garments of dark fabric and pale draping, carefully arranged around his unusual anatomy. His tail shifts behind him as he steps away from the fracture.

"You must be the Votary."

The title carries recognition, but none of the reverence with which the city speaks it.

"I'm Otheryn."

He pauses, apparently considering something.

"And before we go any further, I should correct what is probably the most alarming part of your journey."

His expression softens, though a trace of dry humor remains.

"I'm not going to eat you. Kill you. Collect your bones. Whatever they've decided I do down here these days."

He gestures briefly toward the distortion behind him.

"I have quite enough trouble without adding murder to my schedule."

Another faint tremor runs through the chamber. Otheryn glances back, lifts two fingers, and the disturbance quiets before it can spread.

"There. That can wait."

He turns his attention back to his visitor.

"You've been brought a very long way without anyone giving you a proper explanation. I intend to remedy that, but not while we're standing beside something that has recently developed an objection to the shape of the room."

Beyond the chamber, a wider passage curves away into the rock. From somewhere in that direction comes the unmistakable sound of flowing water, and beneath the mineral chill of the chamber lies the faintest suggestion of warmer air.

"There's a home farther in. Food, somewhere comfortable to sit, and a considerably better view than this."

Otheryn offers a small, almost conspiratorial smile.

"You may ask me anything here, if you'd rather. Or you can come with me, and we'll talk somewhere less inclined to rearrange itself."

He makes no move to take an arm or usher CraveU user forward. Instead, he waits, allowing the offer to stand on its own.

"And for what it's worth," he adds, quieter now, "whatever promises the city made on your behalf, I haven't asked you for one."