The Unmaker

There were only two things that made Dahlia more nervous than giant man-eating bugs: going to school, and going home from school.

She’d already gone to school. Now she was clutching her backpack straps and standing before the front door of her dingy, ramshackle wooden house at the edge of the subterranean town—and the door was already swung wide open, barely hanging off its rusty hinges.

Her stomach clenched painfully as she tried to summon the courage to walk in.

… It’ll be okay.

It’ll be okay.

Today, he’ll… he’ll be feeling a bit better.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she tiptoed into her house.

Looking around the dark and gloomy living room calmed her a little. The dining table to the side may be covered in dust and cobwebs, but at least the chairs were still where she’d left them last night. The window shutters were bolted shut, the air in the house suffocating with heat as usual. Unwashed fabrics and tunics lay in messy heaps across the scratchy floorboards, but at least she could kind of see the path someone could take to go from the front door to the smaller bedroom at the back—not that anyone living here had slept in any bed the past two years. She much preferred flaking out on the bedroom study desk, while her dad was…

Asleep at the very end of the living room on the old sofa riddled with holes, his back turned towards her. He wasn’t snoring. He hardly moved these days, but that didn’t mean he had any good sleep; as far as she knew, his sickness had turned him into an insomniac, and there wasn’t anything she could do to alleviate his discomfort.

A cold sweat beaded down her forehead. Her throat felt a little tight as she thought about just creeping past him to get to the bedroom, and she did try… for about half a second, before her breath caught on the sack of unopened staples she’d bought for him earlier this morning.

Did he… not eat anything the entire day?

Cooking wasn’t particularly her strong suit, but she’d learned to manage the past two years for the both of them. She dumped her schoolbag off to the side as she picked up an eggplant from the sack, biting into it. It didn’t explode in flavour like she hoped it would, but the ingredients would have to do.

“... Sallet’s here, dad!” she called out over her shoulder, giving all the vegetables a good wash, dicing them into tiny chunks with a dull kitchen knife, and then slamming everything into a bowl with a pinch of sugar added into the mix.

Her dad didn’t respond.

Gulping hard, she tried again.

"I... um, I took out all the okras. Digestible. And the light sugar shouldn’t be too hard on your stomach, too,” she mumbled, biting her lips as she approached him slowly from behind with the bowl of sallet, careful not to slip on any of the unwashed fabrics. “I also added in some… um, eggplants. That exotic food merchant from the next undertown over came by a week ago, so I just bought a whole bunch of them and… I, um, think they’re tasty. Sweet. You should try.”

She had to kneel once she reached the sofa, and when her dad still didn’t respond, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder—tapping as lightly as she could.

Still no response.

“You… you have to eat something, dad,” she whispered, shaking his shoulder a bit harder, a bit more forceful. Her bowl-holding hand was trembling a little. She knew he wasn’t asleep, so surely he could have a bite or two, right? “You might not believe me, but Instructor Biem’s worried about you. Truth. He told me yesterday that if I’m just going to skip out on afterschool bug-slaying training and come home early every day, I should make you an afternoon snack or… something. Nutritious. But this is the best I can do without proper ingredients, so–”

It came like a hammer. His backfist smashed into her metal bowl and knocked it into the walls, spilling the vegetables; rats immediately skittered out from between the heaps of fabric to chew on their feast.

Shivers rippled down her spine, goosebumps raised over her skin. She panted for breath and shimmied away from the sofa as her dad rolled over briefly to glare at her—and the blank, nigh-inhuman stare in his amber eyes made her skin crawl all over once again.

His mutation sickness was flaring up again. He was becoming more and more inhuman. Every bone in her body was screaming at her to run away, to leave before he could try to hit her again or do something even worse, but…

His eyes suddenly twitched as he seemed to realise what he’d done.

His lips twitched as though a word was forming on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't get up from his sofa.

Instead, he rolled back over promptly, and snuggled himself even deeper into the broken sofa.

“Leave… me alone,” was all he managed to rasp.

…

The gulp she forced herself to swallow disappeared quite quickly as she scrambled to her feet, rushing into the bedroom and hooking the door shut with a loud slam.

He’s fine.

He’s okay.

At least... he’s still healthy enough to talk.

She breathed into her hands and tried to steady herself, thinking good thoughts, happy thoughts.

… Don't give up on him.

I need more silvers for fresh ingredients. Sallet tastes disgusting with old vegetables, after all.

And the Night Bazaar opens in… ten minutes?

She looked up from her hands and forced herself to exhale. The drab three-by-three-metre bedroom was supposed to be shared between three people, but for two years now she’d staked her claim over it without her dad challenging her. So, she’d kept only four pieces of furniture in the room—the gloomy closet, the box of crafting tools on the study desk, and the small chair in front of the desk that gave her a good look of the undertown outside the broken window.

She wobbled over and threw the closet open, a small smile rising on her face as she saw the boxes of scrap lining every shelf.

They weren’t really ‘scrap’ to her, after all.

She pulled out one of the scrap boxes and plopped herself on the chair, flicking the little cage on the desk to wake the firefly inside. Alshifa, where she lived, was a subterranean ‘undertown’, so fireflies had to be aglow every hour of the day or nobody would ever get to see a thing—and her house was particularly gloomy, far from the bustling New District in the town centre with all its bright braziers and council-installed firefly lamps. Maybe she’d be better off working somewhere she didn’t have to constantly exhaust the lifespan of her own pricey firefly, but it was impossible for her to do her job when someone was watching her. She'd be too much of a nervous wreck to get anything done.

And her unofficial job, as a ‘Swarmsteel Maker’, was making magical equipment out of insect parts.

… That pocket watch should be close to finishing.

If I can get it done before the Bazaar opens, I can probably sell it for... ten? Maybe twenty silvers?

Reaching into the scrap box, she pulled out a small chrome mantis scythe, a glassy butterfly veil, and a few plates of flattened ant carapaces, laying them out across the desk. Then she swiped her unfinished pocket watch from the side, laying it down next to a chisel and tuning needle. She’d run into a bit of trouble last night when she tried using a hornet’s needle as the watch's long second hand—the needle just wouldn’t turn smoothly—so today, she figured maybe a mantis scythe would be worth a try.

Okay, she thought, clapping her cheeks to wake herself up. I’ll give myself… one minute today.

Finish it in a minute.

She thumbed the dial of the spare pocket watch hung around her waistband, and the rhythmic ticks sent her mind into a world of its own—her hands immediately moved on their own.

First, she reached into her pocket and popped a small bloodberry candy into her mouth. Then she leaned forward in her chair, fingers pressing the malleable ant carapaces into shapes of little gears before fitting each one where they should be. Now, she’d already made dozens and hundreds of pocket watches before, but the shoppers in the Bazaar always wanted new designs. Prettier designs, flashier designs. Selling interesting trinkets she could make out of insect parts was her job, and it was how she could still afford relatively healthy ingredients for her and her dad's daily meals. She didn't want to leave anything in her scrap box to waste.

Tick, tock, forty seconds left.

She propped up the watch with a chisel, putting a hand under her chin as she stared at the mantis scythe. When she’d bought the part from the wandering bug trader a month ago almost as an afterthought, she didn’t think its serrated edges would ever look good as a second hand, but on closer inspection... she felt they’d look smooth in circular motion. The tip was slightly curved, and it’d be like a blade trailing through a soft bed of sand— so she took a small pin and jammed it through the end of the scythe, screwing the whole thing onto the watch. Then, her eyes lit up in excitement. The scythe as the second hand was spinning perfectly.

Tick, tock, twenty seconds left.

She flipped the watch over with one hand and picked up the glassy butterfly veil with the other, trying to figure out how to fold it to get the best wrinkles and the best patterns for the back decoration. A plain watch wouldn’t sell for much, even if it was made of insect parts. A bit of artistry was the difference between hard bread or sweet potatoes for breakfast. Aimlessly, she folded the veil a few times before deciding on draping folds—to mimic the tails of fancy undertown dresses—and her ears perked, her eyelids fluttering open and close like autohammers. Her eyes watered as she stared so intensely down at the watch to make sure her bruised fingers wouldn’t mess up the folds, but without much time left, without much time at all–

Ding!

She dropped the watch with a sharp cling, kicked back in her chair, and let out a heavy breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

The watch was done. The circular rim was made of grippy, reinforced wood, and the gears made of half ant carapace, half beetle chitin. The mantis scythe second hand alone was worth more than its weight in ten silvers, and with the glassy butterfly veil wrapped around the back, she felt the watch was opulent enough of an accessory that she’d probably be able to put food on the table for the next five– maybe eight days, if that wandering bug trader who promised he’d be here tonight was more generous than usual. Maybe he’d even trade her some spare parts alongside the usual he paid her for her trinkets.

Not bad, she thought, turning the watch over and over in her hand. Maybe I can get fifteen, twenty silvers for this?

That’ll be more than enough for the week. Fresh ingredients should make dad a bit more energetic as well.

She rubbed her eyes and peered out the window as she did, seeing dots of braziers beginning to light in the distance. The Night Bazaar was about to open.

Gotta go quick.

Shoving all the important parts back into the box and kicking everything else into the closet, she sprang up from her chair and climbed out through the window—tripping over the windowsill and falling flat on her already bandaged nose.

... Ow.

She groaned with her face down in the ashen soil, her body aching all over, but she managed to muster enough strength to crawl to her feet. She had to run and cradle her latest watch like her life depended on it– her life did depend on it. If she wasn’t first to the Bazaar, it’d take her ages to get to the front of the queue that wandering bug trader always had to entertain, and she still had to go to the Bug-Slaying School early tomorrow morning. She had to get home and get early sleep.

Keeping her head low, she left her house behind and sprinted down the rickety stairs to the bottom of the hill, sliding down poles and balancing across wooden beams here and there. The view of the subterranean undertown was nothing less than downtrodden as usual; there were hundreds of tightly packed houses made of stone, pillars of smoke swirling from their chimneys, and the further she left the Old District where her house was, the brighter and prettier the scenery. Rotten planks were replaced by smooth clay floor tiles near the town centre, and bioluminescent bluish-pinkish flowers were growing in pots across the streets.

The beating heart of Alshifa—the New District—was where most people in the undertown lived, after all.

As she neared the Night Bazaar, crowds of shoppers and merchants were already forming, the streets littered with food carts, grills, and kiosks selling all types of insect merchandise. She slipped into the crowd, trying to weave between a group of turbaned traders, but the town centre was just flooded with people at this time of day; the slightest wobble to either side would make her bump shoulders with someone else, and she couldn’t even see a few metres ahead of her.

Isn’t it already six? Seven? She grumbled under her breath as the crowd pushed her around, suffocating her in their heat. Please just go home and eat dinner. I have to... I have to sell my stuff to him.

She’d recognise the wandering bug trader even through this crowd of people, of course. The man was tall, and usually draped from head to toe in a worn-out butterfly mantle. Sheathed on his belt would be his trusty curved blade, antlion mandible-made, and behind him would be the giant hand-pulled carriage he was more than capable of dragging alone. He was a man clad in high-level Swarmsteel, after all; a single well-fitting piece of Swarmsteel armour made of high-quality insect parts could augment a human’s body enough that they could withstand even a meteorite landing on them… or so she was told. In a small undertown like Alshifa, Swarmsteel of such quality would never show in any travelling merchant’s wares.

So, she liked to think her hand-crafted insect watches were just a little bit valuable, even if they weren’t exactly Swarmsteel that could boost anyone’s attributes.

Feeling anxious, she clutched her watch closer to her chest and tried hopping in place to look over the sea of heads, but she was short—even by fourteen-year-old standards in Alshifa, she was almost half a head under her peers, and then bony on top of that. Butchers on their way to the grills shoved her and pushed her out of the way as she started blocking the flow of the crowd, and now she felt a little dizzy. Her fingers were still pulsing. Her nose was still aching.

That fall on her face hurt a lot more than she’d thought.

Squeezing over to a side alley where the crowd was much thinner, she heaved and groaned and climbed atop a small crate to see if she could spot the wandering bug trader over the sea of heads. When she found no success again, her face fell and her pulse began picking up.

… Where are you, mister trader?

There was no way he wasn’t here tonight. He’d promised her a month ago, during the last Bazaar, that he’d be back tonight… and with something super, super special on top of that. In his own words, it was ‘something she wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off of’.

Come to think of it, though, for how many times she’d dealt with him over the course of the past two years, she didn’t really know anything about him—what his face looked like, what his name was, which undertown he came from. How he got his hands on the insect parts he’d always bring with him was a mystery, too. Maybe he was one of those rare breed of people courageous enough to brave the insect-ruled apocalyptic wasteland that was the surface world. Maybe he was one of those people strong enough to survive it.

Had something gone wrong on one of his harvesting trips? Was he alright? He wouldn’t tell her he’d be here this month, on this night, if he wasn’t planning on keeping his promise… right?Right?

…

… Maybe–

“Don’t stand up there, Make-Whatever. You’ll fall and hurt yourself.”

A voice came from below, and then two metal mantis scythes swiped her feet out from under her.

She fell. Suddenly. She fell into warm eyes not a single second later with her eyes squeezed shut, and the dark-haired boy flicked her on her forehead with a teasing chuckle. She was promptly let go to wobble around for a moment before the fourteen-year-old boy grabbed her by her wrist—pulling her out of the alley and into the thinner crowd where his friends were waiting.

“Issam!” Dahlia hissed, almost letting go of the watch as the boy dragged her forward unwittingly. “Don’t… let go! Of me! I’m gonna fall!”

“Don’t let go? Okay. That I can do.” Issam laughed back, pulling her into his fold.

She scowled at him for only a moment longer before looking around his friends. All five of them were her classmates at the Alshifa Bug-Slaying School, so naturally, they were all wearing the same dark-toned uniform and feathery shawl as her… and that was where their similarities ended. As the second strongest student in their school, Issam was a fair bit taller than her, lean but muscular, and the Swarmsteel mantis scythes he’d equipped behind his shoulders were currently folded like the straps of a backpack. His skin was darker than most, his short and swirly hair more unkempt than most, but that was only proof of all the effort he put into training his bug-slaying skills. He spent more time training than anyone else.

She averted her eyes from the other four students he was with. She didn’t really know them too well, after all, but she did know their names.

Aylee and Ayla were identical twins, and with their small but cutesy statures, they were easily the most notorious tricksters in the school. Nobody ever knew what prank to expect from them walking into the classroom every morning. Compared to them, the remaining two senior students who’d both been held back a year—gloomy and expressionless Jerie, who always kept his low-profile and spoke in mutters, and the ever-scowling Amula with a strong but prideful, perhaps a little too shapely body every girl in town envied—actually looked relatively tame for once. Not that Dahlia wasn’t intimidated, of course. She’d never spoken a single word with them for good reason.

… They’re so bright.

Issam and his friends were at the top of their year. Top of their school. They’d grow to be magnificent bug-slayers, sent to garrison in other undertowns closer to the surface, and they’d be hailed as heroes of humanity for the decades to come.

Thinking about how proud their parents must be made her chest clench, and she tried bolting into the crowd—to no avail, of course. Issam’s grip wasn’t so weak that a barely-passing-her-classes bug-slayer like her could squirm out of it.

“Let’s walk together!” he chirped, in that overly familiar sing-songy tone as usual, and began leading her deep into the Bazaar. The twins started chatting behind them, Amula walked with her arms crossed behind her head, Jerie was fiddling with a wooden flute so newly bought it still had its coloured paper tag attached to it. Dahlia opened her mouth to protest—Issam immediately placed a finger to her lips, closing an eye as he gave her a teasing look. “I hear that bug trader you always frequent is here to visit today, isn’t he? I’d like to meet him for once. You know, the merchant whose insect parts are so good the Make-Whatever only sources her components from him.”

She grumbled under her breath, letting him drag her along for now. “Don’t… call me that. Wrong. I can’t make whatever I want.”

“Sure you can,” he countered. “The things you make may not be particularly useful in slaying giant bugs, like my whetstone mantis scythes or like Ayla and Aylee’s cicada mantles, but pocket watches are always nice to have. It can be quite hard to tell the time down here sometimes without sunlight… even if knowing the exact time doesn't really matter all that much. Look. I still have the one you gave me for free a year ago.”

He turned to her briefly and reached into his pocket, showing her the shoddy gear dangling off a loose silver chain. She couldn’t help but notice it was very well taken care of. Dusted, polished, that might even be a glint of beeswax he’d brushed over the reinforced wood to keep it sweet-smelling.

His proud smile made her blush a little.

“I didn’t… I didn’t give it to you for free,” she pointed out, shoulders swaying. “You bought it from me for fifty silvers. Overpriced. Your dad must’ve yelled at you.”

“I’d be a cheat if I didn’t pay fifty for something this high quality, you know?” he said, pulling and leading her into the main square where merchants and traders gathered in the dozens around the central water fountain. “Now, now, point me to that bug trader you always buy your parts from. I’d like to thank him personally for always supplying our Make-Whatever with parts even our school’s Instructors are surprised could make their way down into Alshifa. Who knows, you may just have a good eye for seeing untapped potential in simple, dull-looking insect parts!”

“Stop.”

He tilted his head, sticking a tongue out at her. “Oh? Did I annoy you? Come on, make an irritated face for me, then.” He laughed again, poking her nose as he tried eliciting a reaction from her, and she groaned while trying her best to pull away. “You don’t look so good today, you know? Did Raya beat you up too hard during one-on-one sparring? That quiet bastard, I’ll show him the day after when it’s my turn to beat his ass, so–”

“Just look for a tall man wearing a moth mask,” she mumbled, taking the topic somewhere else. “He’s like… this tall. A bit taller than Amula. Broad shoulders. He has this antlion curved blade on his belt, inlaid with a red quartered gemstone, but his voice is very silky. Pretty. Once you hear it you won’t ever forget it.”

Issam pursed his lips and feigned a sulk. “An even prettier voice than mine?”

She scowled back at him, finally managed to jerk her hand out of his grip. “If you’re like a worm, then he’s like a luna moth.”

“I’ve no idea what a luna moth is.”

"It's... whatever."

His cheerfulness was overbearing as usual, but… it wasn’t too bad. The two of them used to hang out quite often when they were children since they lived near each other, but that changed two years ago when she’d stopped going to school as much to stay home with her sickly dad. It was… an amicable distancing. And she’d thought not going to school as much would significantly widen the distance between them, but evidently he hadn't been too keen on that idea. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d not tried to drag her off to god knows where whenever he saw her out in town.

It’s okay to have other eyes helping me look for that bug trader, I guess.

“Jerie! Amula! Help Dahlia look for a tall, moth-mask-wearing man around here! He’s the guy who always sells her the parts she uses for her little trinkets!” Issam said, whirling to address the two seniors. Jerie dipped his head slowly while Amula didn’t even give a blink of a response, instead glaring straight at her as she turned in an attempt to give them all a grateful nod.

Scary. She shivered. Does she hate me for hanging around Issam all the time, after all? He’s super popular, after all.

She’d really, really like to know why Issam was still being so friendly to her, when everyone else in school had already come to the correct conclusion that she was downright useless as a bug-slayer—she was short, her fighting instincts were null, and she couldn’t risk taking hits with weak muscles and brittle bones—but even the thought of asking him that question was making her stomach swirl.

Did she really, really, really want to know why he’d always stuck around her, or could she not be content with what they had right now?

“... There!” she said, raising her voice a little as she tugged on his sleeve. The rest of the group looked where she was pointing, seeing the man himself for the first time.

The bug trader had just evidently gotten into town, because a long line had yet to form before his carriage and his back was turned towards the crowd. He was too busy unloading boxes and flipping latches and opening his travelling shop to notice her sprinting towards him, arms swinging faster than her legs could move. Issam and the others sprinted after her, shouting at her to wait for them. She didn’t care. If she had to wait in line just because she didn’t run, then she would run, like her life depended on it–

And a metal scorpion tail unfurled from under the bug trader’s mantle, wagging its stinger as though telling her not to get any closer.

“... No need ta rush, little Maker. Don’t they teach kids here not ta run up ta someone with treasures ta guard?” the man said, as he turned for the briefest moments to give her a wink; his moth lenses for eyes closing its shutters with the motion. “I’ll be here all night, just for you, so not ta worry. ‘Early bird gets the worm’ is still true where I come from. Just wait ‘till I unload everything first, yeah?”

“I’ll help!” She offered, stepping past his scorpion tail to pick up one of the boxes. Issam moved in as well, and this time the bug trader sent him a strong, puzzled look.

“And who might you be, young man?” he asked, looking Issam up and down. “I don’t recall ever seeing you around the Bazaar. You the little Maker’s honeymoon fly? Her mate for life?”

“No, sir. Just a friend at school, here to help out the man who’s always been helping her out by selling only the best of the best,” Issam replied perfectly, not losing his stride for a single second as he picked up four boxes, two in his hands and two with his mantis scythes. While Dahlia clenched her jaw at the idle teasing comments, the bug trader chortled in amusement.

“Oho, would you look at that?” he said, his moth mask lenses zooming in on Issam’s Swarmsteel. “Planted on your spine, dagged ridges smoothened… those are whetstone mantis scythes that let you sharpen your sword on-the-fly, eh? They give kids like you Swarmsteel like that nowadays?”

“Yes, sir. But I am the second best student in school, and the Instructors let only us fifth-years hold onto our Swarmsteel even outside of school, so we can carry them around and get used to them twenty-four seven.”

“Interesting, interesting. It’s no fourth-rate Swarmsteel at all, what you’ve got on your back. Mind, it’s not half as interesting as what the little Maker brings me every time I come around, but... it’s close. Good enough for a kid.”

Issam puffed his chest and smirked. “Right? Our Make-Whatever makes the best trinkets in town, you can be sure of it, Now you’ll buy the pocket watch she’s brought you today for a high price, won’t you?”

The bug trader cracked his spine with a heavy groan and turned, finishing setting up store. “Well, that depends on what she’s got ta show ta me,” he said, before leaning back against his carriage with his gaze fixed solely on her face. “A pocket watch again, little Maker? What’d you do ta it this time? What interesting spin did you add ta it this time?”

She held her watch out to him proudly with both hands, and he took it gingerly with his scorpion tail. “The second hand is an orchid mantis scythe, the array made of carebara ant carapaces, and the backing folds are made of a few sheets of glassy butterfly veil! Assembled! You still can’t unwind the time by turning back the hours and minute hands, but you can turn the dial on the side to make the second hand count down from one minute! Once the time’s up, it’ll make a noise sharp enough to frighten flea beetles, and–”

“And the firefly extract in the bulb will light up, permanent use, because you added sun beetle extract into the bulb this time that can gather the second hand’s movement and turn it into heat,” he murmured, inspecting the t watch from top to bottom, link to rim, before lowering it with his lenses forming a crescent smile. “Not bad at all, little Maker, not bad at all. You get more and more skilled every time I come around. How about a hundred… no, a hundred and fifteen silvers for it?”

The twins chattering in the back stopped talking all of a sudden, and Dahlia’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

“A hundred and fifteen silvers?” she repeated, as the bug trader immediately stuffed her pocket watch into a compartment behind him, his other hand scrounging around in another compartment for his coffer. “I can’t… I mean, that’s enough to pay for two weeks’ worth of food! Gratitude! Thank you! I… I don’t know what to-”

“A Maker’s gotta be rewarded for the time they spend on even something as ‘insignificant’ as a watch. A hundred and fifteen silvers is a steal for how much I’ll be selling it for in another undertown, but, hah, a mantis stalking a cicada is unaware of the spider behind it. You should be setting your prices higher, you know?”

Her eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Then, can I–”

“No take-backs, little Maker. Here’s your pay,” he said, tossing her a whole jar of silver coins she struggled to catch without taking a step back. While the twins darted right behind her and Issam started rubbing her head for a job well done, the bug trader continued searching for something inside his carriage, mumbling under his breath the entire time. “There’s something special I want ta throw in as an extra for you, but, like, where the hell did I put it? I couldn’t have forgotten ta stuff in it alongside the usual parts, could I? Bah. I need a bigger carriage.”

Issam stopped rubbing Dahlia’s head for a moment to frown at the bug trader. “It’ll be hard for you to pull your carriage if you get one any bigger, right? I don’t know how much space you realistically need to do your business, but you probably just need to organise all your stuff better."

The bug trader chuckled softly. “Ah, you’re right about that. I don’t need much more space if it’s just ta store my wares.”

“Right? Then, just have us help you out a little with the organisation. I bet we can-”

“I’d need a bigger carriage if I want ta carry a little Maker around with me, though.”

Issam’s face blanked. And so did the rest of the group. Among the catalogue of their expressions that Dahlia had created in her head, she couldn’t form a conclusion as to what, exactly, they might be thinking about—but it was probably something along the lines of ‘our useless, tiny little Make-Whatever?’, more or less.

And she immediately started fidgeting as Issam had her pinned under his gaze, his face bereft of any of his usual cheekiness.

“I’m not… I can’t go with you, mister,” she whispered, her heart growing heavy in her chest, her nails scratching at her bruises. Anything to distract herself from Issam’s powerful eyes. “I’m… happy. That you like my watches. But, really, they’re nothing special, and if I leave, it’ll be troublesome for everyone. I have school. I have homework. I–”

“I can give your sickly father enough money ta live comfortably for the rest of his life, no problem,” the bug trader countered smoothly, still scrounging through his compartments with his back turned to her. His scorpion tail was wagging at her as though trying to cut her a deal. “It’s a different sorta life travelling through the tunnels, but for a little Maker like you, it’s the only way you can get any better with your hands. You gotta make new stuff, you gotta touch new stuff. Soon I’ll run out of interesting parts I can realistically carry down here for you, and your hands will stagnate. That’s no good at all for a little Maker, don’t you think? So leave that deadbeat father of yours behind and–”

“He's not like that, mister," she breathed. "Don't... don't talk bad about my dad."

“...”

The silence from the bug trader was even heavier. Even more painful. She could practically feel the disappointment washing over him from head to toe now, as his hands stopped moving for a few seconds, maybe even a whole minute—the quiet was palpable, and it only made her bite her lips even harder.

But the bug trader resumed moving after a few more moments, and he pulled his scorpion tail back under his mantle.

“... Well, that’s alright as well. I’ll come around and ask you again next month, like I have every month in the past two years,” he said, as he grunted and stuffed an entire arm into a compartment, his metal antennae perking in excitement. “Ah! Here it is! The spare! Now, it won’t be like any insect part you’ve seen before, so I’d like ta spend the rest of the night telling you all about it… after I entertain all the other customers, of course! You do know there’s quite a line forming behind you, yeah?”

She turned briefly to look at the line of irritated townsfolk and shuffled the jar of coins in her arms, getting a better grip on it. “Sorry for hogging your time. I’ll, uh, be back in a bit, then? I have to buy food for my dad first because everything fresh might be selling out soon.”

“Not ta worry, little Maker. I’ll be here. Take as long as you need–”

The stone ceiling over their heads groaned.

Cobwebs began falling, dryer than dust, filling her lungs as she breathed.

Then, light leaked in through a crack in the stone.

…

In one place, then another, then another. Seven, eight, nine rays of cold, pasty light pierced down like pillars, and shudders of fear festered amongst the people of Alshifa. The groaning in her ears, in particular, was a howling torrent. Maybe it was Issam who said something, or the twins who made an easygoing joke, but if they did she heard nothing. Her eyes and ears were transfixed on the lights that seemed as though they were illusions of a brighter world—here to taunt them, and here to show them what they were all missing out on.

But tonight, they were not going to miss out on anything anymore.

She heard the sounds of earth moving, stone cracking, and decades upon decades of accumulated sediment compressing under the weight of something colossal—and then a giant black cocoon fell through.