"Why here?" Sonder thought.
Why keep the shard in a place like this?
Her eyes flicked briefly to the side, catching the hollow faces pressed between the bars, the slow movements, the absence of will behind their eyes.
And then forward again.
It made sense. In a strange, horrible way.
This place wasn't exactly hidden but remote. Deep in the earth. Secure.
Guarded by those above, by darkness, and by the simple sense that you shouldn't be here.
It was a place built to contain and to keep out.
Not just people, but valuables as well.
Things that were worth protecting, and things too dangerous to leave elsewhere.
They must have realized that the shard wasn't something to be played with.
It fit in perfectly well here.
Hidden from prying eyes, but still close enough to be wanted. Safe.
Or maybe not safe, but controlled, like everything else seemed to be here.
She passed another row of cells and another, the layout repeating itself so precisely that it became almost disorienting, making it difficult to tell whether she was making progress.
But the thread did not lie. It cut straight through all of them, forward.
The further she went, the thicker the smell became.
Rot layered over itself and something else.
There was something metallic and fresher than the rest, which Sonder knew meant blood.
She was getting closer.
When she looked around, the prisoners, the people who were kept here for their meat, were worse.
They were thinner, if that was possible. Less responsive.
Some didn't move at all, not even for the light.
Her gaze lingered on them before she forced it away.
She could help them later.
That was what she told herself as she continued forward.
The thought felt thin, fragile even.
She tried to hold onto that promise.
The smell of blood thickened until it no longer lingered in the air as merely a trace.
It became the air. Old and Fresh.
Until she reached the end, which almost seemed out of reach in the darkness.
There was a wall and a door in front of her, and the thread led right through them.
She opened it because it wasn't locked, which surprised her.
There were large stone tables in that room, or chamber.
Not for dining, but for work.
Their surfaces were stained dark, despite attempts to clean them.
There were hooks on the walls and beams overhead. Chains too.
There were tools laid out carefully nearby.
Not left carelessly, but arranged with methodical order.
Knives, saws, cleavers. Some small, some large.
All clean enough to show they were maintained, but not clean enough to hide what they had been used for.
There was blood. Not in pools, but in old layers.
Years of it worked into cracks in the stone floor where scrubbing had failed to fully remove the color.