The Unmaker

“... Mama.”

“Yeah?”

“Why does papa give off all of his coins to the orphanage downstairs?”

“Hm. I’m not sure, really. He says he grew up there after his parents died in a Swarm infestation over twenty years ago, and the sirs and madams of the orphanage were always very kind to him. When he got incredible results in the General School, they even let him move out to live alone in this house so he could study better, so he probably feels like he owes them his entire life.”

“But we don’t have enough coins to eat good food ourselves, though?”

“We don’t need to eat the most delicious food every single day. Sometimes, simple bread and water is good enough. Compared to what we have, the council has all but abandoned the orphanage down in the Old District, refusing to provide the facility with any more coins than the barest minimum—papa is just making sure the kids would at least grow up to be as healthy as you.

“Besides, this is the papa that I fell in love with.

“He wants to help everyone, he wants to dip his hands in everything, he wants to make it so no child has to starve like he had back when he was in the orphanage—if he wasn’t kind like that, I’m sure he would’ve kicked me out when I showed up on his doorstep all those years ago, begging for something to eat.”

“... Huh?

“You were an orphan too, mama?”

“I don’t really remember, to be honest. I think I must have a mama and papa of my own, but I don’t really… know. Does it really matter now, though?”

“...”

“... Sleep tight, Dahlia.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

- Conversation from Sina Household past

… It might’ve been a good minute or two. Ten minutes or twenty. It might’ve even been an entire hour, for all Dahlia really knew, but eventually exhaustion got the better of her and her tear ducts dried up, her voice no longer able to cry. Everything she had to say to her dad, she’d already said out loud and proud—so now there was nothing left to do but to cling onto his cold hand for just a few seconds, a few minutes more.

His death wasn’t easy to accept. He’d always been the immortal genius doctor in her head, the man who could carry her on his back up and down the tallest cliffs in Alshifa without breaking a sweat; how could his hand be so cold now?

It was because of her.

She’d killed him.

She’d cut through his steel threads, she’d broken his insect limbs, she’d dismantled him from head to toe—without his chitin plates to protect him, of course warmth would be seeping away from his body with cold moonlight falling onto them from far, far away.

In that sense, she wasn’t surprised.

She was just a little… tired.

“... We’ve made too much of a ruckus with that first bomb of his going off. The Swarm’s coming,” Raya said, his voice firm and steady as he stood next to her, peering down at her dad using his spear as a walking cane. “I doubt we’d all be able to get down the hill without getting detected, and I don’t suppose you can make another glider the way you are right now. Got any bright ideas you want to share?”

The bristles on her bracers told her as much, there were faint, barely noticeable rumbles coming from all the way below the hill, and judging by the soft clattering of giant legs in the distance, the Swarm would be upon them within two minutes, maybe even a little less.

She shook her head with her eyes squeezed shut, racking her head in an attempt to think of an alternative route off the hill. For decades, it’d only been the single staircase connecting her house to the rest of the undertown, so if they couldn’t go down that route, the only alternative would be to scale directly down the vertical cliffs–

“Eh. I guessed as much,” Raya said, shrugging as he turned and began pacing out the front door, spear resting on his shoulder. “I’ll go down and distract the bugs. The three of you walk along the edge of the hill and find a spot to jump down to. You and the cicada boy have your mantles to increase air drag, while Amula’s beetle boots should be able to nullify most of the landing impact. Have her carry the two of you on her shoulder while you fan your mantles like the glider wings they once were.”

… Huh?

The beating in her chest vanished for a brief second as she whirled around, eyes snapping wide open. Amula and Jerie, who were leaning by the doorframe, looked every bit as puzzled as she was, almost letting Raya stride past them without making much of a fuss—but then Amula blinked again and grabbed his shawl, choking his neck from behind.

Raya clicked his tongue, glaring back at her. “Let go, bitch.”

“I’ll tear all yer clothes off before I let you kill yerself,” she growled back, hobbling a step forward as she tried to get her other hand on his neck. “We’re leavin’ together. Together. There’s, what, fifty or sixty giant bugs down there? ‘Distract them’ my ass, like ye can do that with a shoddy spear and a missin’ ear–”

He rammed the end of his spear into her stomach and made her double over, clutching her stomach in pain. A second blind swing knocked her off her feet—losing all five toes on her right foot was a detrimental blow to her balance—so Jerie caught her before she could fall too hard, all three of them staring at Raya’s slowly shrinking back as he paced towards the rattling staircase at the edge of the hill.

For a second, Dahlia almost thought he was just going to leave without even giving them a parting wave, but then he glanced at her with his eyes brimming with fury—and the anger, she felt, wasn’t exactly directed at her.

“... I’d like to say I repaid my favour to Doctor Sanyon, but my gut tells me I have yet to do anything of the sort,” he said, dipping his head slightly in acknowledgement of her presence. “We’ll meet again, Dahlia Sina. And I’ll still owe you a favour.”

His expression was still cold and distant, but the light in his eyes was anything but—he didn’t even try to walk down the stairs properly. She watched, teeth gritted, as he vaulted off the railings and plummeted straight into the Swarm; the sounds of battle and carnage resounding a mere moment later, filling the air with a cacophony of dying screeches.

She could only hope she wouldn’t hear his scream amongst them, and thankfully the seniors didn’t seem to want to stick around, either. While Amula stumbled in her direction, cursing the missing toes, she managed to let go of her dad’s hand to begin picking up the shards of his broken insect claws.

Out of everything she wanted to take with her back to the shelter, it was those black chitin shards of his.

She could make something out of his claws.

She had to do it.

[And… his body?] Eria said, tapping on her shoulder as she scooped in as many broken fragments she could, bundling all of them up in a torn window drape. [Will you simply leave him here without giving him the honourable bug-slayer’s deathbed? Will you not bury him, either? If a bug devours him in his current state, they might stand to evolve and become a Mutant themselves–]

No.

She paused, halfway through wrapping her drape into a pouch, to look wearily at her dad’s hanging head.

He’s… honourable enough, with his hand raised in the air like that.

Will any bug dare to approach a man looking so strong and powerful even after his death?

Eria didn’t immediately respond.

[... I suppose not.]

Just as she finished securing her pouch onto her waistband, Amula finished bandaging her own feet. Then she was picked up and slung around, allowed to ride on the senior’s back without a single grunt of complaint. Jerie smiled weakly and thumbed at himself, as though asking if he could also jump in on the haul, but Amula sneered at him before practically sprinting out of the house, clutching the fragments of her half-destroyed beetle boot in her hands as well.

If they had time to spare—and if the Swarm wasn’t literally right below their hill, ready to storm up the moment they got past Raya—Dahlia would’ve liked to rummage through her house looking for insect parts that could prove useful back in the shelter. She knew she had lots tucked away in secret boxes scattered around the house, and the fact that her dad even had two of her bombs on him meant he’d already uncovered some of her stashes while she was gone the past three days.

Alas, they didn’t have the time to spare, and Raya knew it. The seniors knew it.

She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her arms so tightly around Amula’s neck as the seniors leapt off the side of the hill. If she didn’t know her voice was going to crack the moment she tried saying something, she would’ve asked Amula just where, exactly, they were planning on landing… but at this point, she was too exhausted to care.

So when Amula crashed feet-first through the roof of a building and landed on the bounciest sofa she’d ever seen, it was like everything that’d happened in the past ten seconds was all just a fleeting dream—she couldn’t immediately piece together the events that went from her being in her house ten seconds ago, to now being in a completely different building she didn’t quite recognise.

…

But did she recognise this place?

It wasn't just the flowery decor, the stained windows with a nice view of the Old District outside, or the massive common area in front of her worthy of rivalling the auditorium in the council hall—the room may be dark right now, but as Amula skipped off the sofa to flick on the firefly lamps, she saw the numerous coloured drawings nailed to the walls, the toy blocks and dolls left scattered across the floor. Small hedges and potted plants kept the air fresh and minty, overpowering the foul scents of the sea of insect carcasses just beyond the balconies. A smattering of benches and tables and other soft cushions gave the room a warm, gentle look, and it was only when she saw the chalk drawing pinned on the wall behind her that she realised where they'd landed.

This is…

The Alshifa Orphanage?

Slowly, tentatively, she plucked the drawing off the wall and noted the two dozen or so stick-figure children arranged in a wide circle, all of them holding each other’s hands. She didn’t need to read the messily written names above everyone’s heads to tell who was who. The twin sisters were throwing their arms up, the boy balancing a flute on his head was lurking off to the side, the two other boys were kicking and scowling at each other with thickly drawn eyebrows; now things were starting to click in her head, and now she felt she finally understood what Issam had always meant when he said he ‘lived close’ to her.

How had she never known?

How had she never asked?

That all six of them had been living under her this entire time, and to think they were all–

“We’re stayin’ the night here,” Amula said, glancing at Jerie climbing down through the broken ceiling as she continued flicking the firefly lamps around the room. “I’ve no idea if Raya will make it through, but assumin’ he does manage to lead the Swarm away, we’ll be safe in here. Probably. Be quiet, eat and drink your fill, and we’ll set off back for the shelter tomorrow mornin’. If we’re lucky, maybe he’ll even be back earlier than us.”

“...”

“... And what are ye starin’ at?”

Amula tossed a wad of blankets at her from across the room, smacking her back against the sofa. It was neither the smoothest nor thinnest of blankets, but perhaps that was the point—by the time she managed to claw it off her face and attempted swinging her feet of the sofa, intent on helping the seniors tend to their wounds, Amula had already sped over to her with a nasty flick aimed at her forehead.

She reeled back, tensing the muscles in her neck, bracing for a hard impact; the flick never came, and Amula simply pushed her head into the armrest while pulling her legs back up onto the sofa, sticking a wet bandage roll over her bleeding eye.

“Yer useless right now,” Amula mumbled, drawing the blanket up to her neck and throwing her a hand-sewn plush in the same motion. “I’ll leave some food on the table if ye get hungry in the middle of the night. Bathroom’s in the hallway to the right. If the room’s too bright, then pack up and move yer blanket to the sofa in the hallway to the left. There’s no windows there, so the ventilation will suck, but ye can also just carve a hole in the wall with yer chisel. The boards are very thin here.”

She gulped hard, shaking the plush off her face. “But your… your toes. Jerie’s skin. Injured. I should… I should take a look–”

Jerie loomed over the armrest, whacking her on the head once with his flute, and Amula kicked another plush into her face before making her hug it this time.

“Don’t try to distract yerself by doin’ somethin’ you’re good at,” Amula said, a tone of quiet knowing in her voice as she walked away. “Ye have things ye need to work through, and ye have things ye need to feel. Ye know that. Ye feel it. So just feel it, and just rest.

“Don’t run away from it.”

…

So she stayed on the sofa, hands fumbling under her blanket for a piece of candy in her pocket. She managed to find one without the seniors noticing, but then she felt something inside her chest cracking again, just like the bloodberry candy she popped into her mouth—and the memories of the past hour flooded back into her head, just like a roaring tide bursting through a poorly constructed dam.

Ten seconds.

She couldn’t even last ten seconds before she covered her face with her blanket, expelling her breaths as quiet, choking sobs.

If the seniors thought she was pathetic, they didn’t say it aloud.

They left her alone with her thoughts, and she cried under her blanket until her body could stay awake no longer.