The journey to Korg's sanctuary was a march through a decomposing cathedral. The trees here were ancient titans with trunks as wide as grain silos, their branches woven together into a ceiling that dripped a constant, tepid rain. The ground was no longer mud. It was a sponge of peat and rotting vegetation that breathed under their feet, exhaling pockets of gas that smelled of sulfur and wet dog.
Raina walked in a daze. Her boots were heavy, caked with layers of Weald-muck, but the weight dragging at her ankles was nothing compared to the anchor pulling on her mind.
She stared at the back of the creature walking ten feet in front of her.
Korg.
The bear was massive. Standing on his hind legs, he towered over seven feet tall. His fur was a tapestry of scars and coarse, brown hair that shed water like oil. He wore plate armor—actual, forged steel plate that had been hammered and reshaped to fit his ursine frame. The leather straps creaked rhythmically with every lumbering step. Creak. Thud. Creak. Thud.
It was the sound of reality breaking.
Raina blinked, trying to clear the static from her vision. She rubbed her eyes with the back of a grime-streaked hand, pressing hard enough to see stars. When she opened them, the bear was still there. He was using a machete the size of a ceiling fan blade to hack through a curtain of vines.
"Neurotoxins," Raina whispered to herself. Her voice was a dry rattle. "It has to be neurotoxins. The moss. The spores. I'm lying on the basement floor in convulsions. My brain is firing random synapses to comfort me before death."
Nix, who was scurrying along beside her with the energy of a field mouse on espresso, looked up. He adjusted his glasses, which were somehow still miraculously intact despite the violence of the last hour.
"Your diagnosis is flawed," Nix stated. He didn't whisper. In the shadow of the massive bear, the Glimmuck seemed to have found a new confidence. "Neurotoxins typically induce paranoia and abstract geometric hallucinations. They do not conjure consistent, bipedal ursine allies with complex armor systems. This is persistent reality, Rainy. You need to adjust your baseline."
Raina looked down at the small mechanic. He was studying the bear with a look of pure, predatory calculation. It wasn't the look of someone afraid of a monster. It was the look of an engineer sizing up a new piece of heavy machinery.
"Adjust my baseline," Raina repeated, her laugh bubbling up, sharp and brittle. "Nix, look at him. It's a bear. Wearing pants. He speaks English. He eats chocolate. This isn't a baseline issue. This is a sanity issue."
"It is convergent evolution," Nix argued, pulling a small notebook from his pocket and making a quick sketch of Korg's gait. "Or perhaps a magical mutation. Look at the articulation of the hock joints. He is clearly built for bipedal locomotion, unlike Earth bears which are facultative bipeds. His center of gravity is lower. His pelvic girdle is wider. This implies a species that evolved to walk upright, or was genetically modified to do so. It is fascinating."
Raina shook her head. "You're treating him like a science project. I'm trying to figure out if I need to check myself into a psych ward."
"Why not both?" Nix suggested helpfully. He quickened his pace, moving closer to the massive creature. "Hey! Korg! A question regarding your biology. Are you born this way? Or were you... uplifted?"
Korg stopped. The sudden cessation of movement was terrifying. A creature that large shouldn't be able to stop so instantly, but he did. He turned his massive head slowly, the vertebrae in his neck popping with a sound like dry branches snapping.
His yellow eyes narrowed as he looked down at Nix.
"Uplifted?" Korg rumbled. The word vibrated in Raina's chest cavity. "I was not lifted. I climbed."
"No, I mean..." Nix waved his hands, searching for the right lexicon. "Are there more of you? A tribe? A family unit?"
Korg snorted, a wet, rattling sound that expelled a mist of condensation from his nostrils. He turned back to the path and resumed walking.
"No family," Korg grunted. "Just Korg. Family died. Pig-Men ate them. Now Korg eats Pig-Men. Circle of life."
Nix looked back at Raina, his eyes wide with excitement. He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Do you hear that, Rainy? He is a solitary apex predator with a vengeance drive. He has no attachments to this dimension. He is a free agent."
Raina stepped over a root that looked disturbingly like a human femur. "So?"
"So," Nix hissed, gesturing wildly at the bear's retreating back. "Imagine the utility. We bring him back. We stabilize the Slipgate. We have a tank. A literal tank that runs on honey and lack of trust. Who is going to mess with the diner if Korg is sitting in the booth by the door? The IRS? I think not."
Raina stopped walking. She stared at Nix. The absurdity of the suggestion punched a hole through her fear, leaving her feeling hollow and lightheaded.
"You want to bring the bear to Texas," she said flatly.
"I want to recruit the asset," Nix corrected. "Look at him. He is easily four hundred kilos of biomass. His armor suggests he understands maintenance and gear. He speaks the local trade language. He is not an animal, Rainy. He is a resource."
"He's a monster, Nix!" Raina snapped, her voice rising. "He's a fairytale monster! How do you explain him to the health inspector? How do you explain him to the neighbors? 'Oh, don't mind the giant armored bear, he's just the bouncer'? People will shoot him. Or the government will dissect him. You can't just smuggle a cryptid into Weedfield!"
Nix rubbed his chin, unfazed by her hysteria. "We could shave him," he mused. "Put him in a trench coat. Tell people he has a glandular condition. Humans are remarkably willing to ignore anomalies if you give them a clipboard and a safety vest."
Raina started walking again, pushing past Nix. She couldn't have this conversation. It was too much. The mud was sucking at her boots, trying to pull her down into the earth, and Nix was planning a sitcom spin-off with a bear.
"I'm waking up now," Raina muttered, closing her eyes for three steps. "One. Two. Three. Wake up, Raina. Wake up in the hospital. Wake up in the diner."
She opened her eyes.
They were still in the swamp. The grey mist was still swirling around them, forming shapes that looked like grasping hands. And the bear was still there.
"Not waking up," she whispered. A cold knot of dread tightened in her stomach. "Which means I'm not dreaming. Which means I'm trapped."
"We are approaching the perimeter," Korg announced.
The terrain changed abruptly. The soft, spongy ground gave way to solid rock. They had reached the base of a massive limestone escarpment that rose out of the swamp like a grey tidal wave frozen in stone.
Vines and moss draped over the cliff face, but Raina could see the dark, jagged mouth of a cave about twenty feet up. A rough, spiraling path had been carved into the rock, leading up to the entrance.
"Home," Korg rumbled.
He began the ascent. Raina followed, her legs burning with lactic acid. She was physically spent. Her adrenaline reserves were tapped out. Every step was a negotiation with gravity.
They reached the cave entrance. Raina braced herself for a damp, smelly hole in the ground. She expected bones. She expected filth.
She did not expect the door.
It was a heavy, iron-bound wooden door, set into the rock with actual hinges. It looked like it had been salvaged from a castle or a dungeon. Korg reached out, unlatched a complex locking mechanism made of gears and chains, and pushed it open.
"Inside," Korg said. "Safe."
Raina stepped across the threshold and stopped dead.
The interior of the cave was vast, a natural cathedral of stone, but it was not wild. It was inhabited.
Bioluminescent fungi grew in carefully cultivated patches on the walls, casting a soft, blue-green light that illuminated the space better than any lantern. In the center of the room, a fire pit was ringed with stones, though it was currently cold.
But it was the stuff that caught Raina's eye.
Shelves had been carved into the rock walls. On them sat a chaotic, impossible collection of items.
A stack of license plates from the 1970s. A rusted bicycle wheel. A collection of glass mason jars filled with glowing liquids. A mannequin head wearing a welding mask. A stack of books that looked swollen with moisture.
It was the hoard of a giant magpie. Or a scavenger who had spent decades collecting the trash that fell through the cracks of the universe.
"You live here," Raina said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of disbelief.
"It is dry," Korg said, closing the heavy door behind them and sliding a massive bolt into place. "It is defendable."
He lumbered over to the fire pit. He picked up two stones—flint and steel, scaled up for giant hands—and struck them together. Sparks showered onto a pile of dried grey moss. Within seconds, a fire was crackling, casting dancing orange shadows against the blue-lit walls.
"Sit," Korg ordered. He pointed to a collection of logs arranged around the fire. "Rest."
Raina sat. Her legs folded under her, and she sank onto the log, staring into the flames. The heat felt incredible. It cut through the bone-deep chill of the Weald, loosening the tight bands of tension around her chest.
Nix didn't sit. He began prowling around the cave, inspecting the shelves.
"Fascinating," Nix murmured, picking up a rusted toaster. "Mid-twentieth century Earth manufacture. General Electric. How did you acquire this, Korg?"
"Fell from sky," Korg said. He was rummaging in a large wooden chest near the back of the cave. "Big storm. Many years ago. Sky opened. Rain of junk. Toaster is... useless. But shiny."
"The portal instability isn't new," Nix said to Raina, holding up the toaster. "This confirms it. The Slipgate in the diner isn't just a door; it's a weak point in the membrane. Things have been leaking through for decades. The diner was built on top of a scar."
Raina looked at the fire. The flames licked at the air, consuming the moss.
"A scar," she repeated. "So we're just... trash? We're just more junk that fell out of the sky for the bear to collect?"
"Guests," Korg corrected.
He turned around. In his massive paws, he held three wooden bowls and a large clay jug. He walked over to the fire and set them down.
"Mead," Korg said. "Made from gloom-bees. Strong. Good for shock."
He poured a thick, amber liquid into the bowls. The smell hit Raina instantly—it was sweet, heavy, and smelled like fermented flowers and gasoline.
Korg pushed a bowl toward her with a gentle nudge of his claw.
"Drink," the bear said. "Little female is shaking. Smell of fear is sour. Drink makes fear go away."
Raina looked at the bowl. She looked at the bear. She looked at the alien mechanic examining a toaster.
She picked up the bowl.
"If I'm dreaming," Raina said, raising the bowl in a toast to the absurdity of the universe, "this is going to be a hell of a hangover."
She took a drink.
It burned. It tasted like liquid fire and honey, coating her throat and hitting her stomach with a warm, heavy impact. She coughed, eyes watering, but the warmth spread through her limbs instantly.
"Whoa," Raina gasped. "That is... potent."
"Seventy proof, at least," Nix estimated, sniffing his own bowl. "The fermentation process in a high-oxygen environment like the Weald would accelerate the alcohol production. Efficient."
Korg sat down. The ground shook slightly as he settled his bulk onto a pile of furs. He picked up his bowl—which looked like a thimble in his hand—and downed the contents in one gulp.
"So," Raina said, the alcohol giving her a sudden, reckless courage. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "You're real. This place is real. The pigs are real."
"Real," Korg agreed.
"How?" Raina asked. She looked at Nix. "You said things fall here. But this..." She gestured around the cave. "This implies an ecosystem. A society. How does it work, Nix? Give me the science. Make it make sense so I don't start screaming."
Nix set the toaster down and walked over to the fire. He sat on a log, his legs dangling, looking like a child at a campfire.
"It is a filtration system," Nix explained, his voice taking on a professorial tone. "The Weald is a pocket dimension. It has high entropy. It absorbs energy and matter from the surrounding realities—Earth, the High Veil, maybe others."
He held up a hand, counting on his fingers.
"When biomass arrives here—people, animals, plants—three things happen. Option One: The environment kills them. The toxins, the gravity, the lack of sunlight. That is ninety percent of arrivals."
"Option Two," Korg rumbled, interrupting. "They change."
"Correct," Nix nodded. "Option Two: Adaptation. Rapid evolutionary mutation. The Weald forces change. If you survive the first week, your biology starts to rewrite itself to fit the environment. The Boar-Kin? They were likely normal pigs from Earth that fell through a rift centuries ago. The ambient magic and the need to survive turned them bipedal. Gave them thumbs. Gave them cruelty."
Raina looked at Korg. "And you?"
"Bear," Korg said simply. "Ancestors were bears. Fell through. Weald made us strong. Made us think. Bears are solitary. Weald made us... lonely. So we learned to talk."
It was a heartbreakingly simple explanation. Raina felt a pang of sympathy for the massive creature. Evolution driven by loneliness.
"And Option Three?" Raina asked Nix.
Nix's face darkened. The firelight reflected in his glasses, hiding his eyes.
"Option Three is consumption," Nix said quietly. "Some things do not adapt. They do not die. They... rot. They are consumed by the darkness of the place. They become vessels for the hunger. The Skin-Thieves. The Shadow-Cats. They are not alive in the way we understand it. They are just mouths. They are the white blood cells of this dimension, hunting down anything that doesn't belong."
Raina shivered, pulling her knees to her chest. "And us? Which option are we?"
"We are anomalies," Nix said. "We have not been here long enough to change. And we are too stubborn to die. We are the virus."
"I like virus," Korg chuckled. It was a deep, rumble of a sound. "Pigs hate virus."
Raina took another drink of the mead. The room was swimming slightly, but for the first time in hours, the panic was receding, replaced by a warm, fuzzy numbness.
"So we're viruses," Raina murmured. "Great. I always wanted to be a pathogen."
She looked at the bear. "Korg, you said the Sky opened. The storm. When was that?"
Korg shrugged, a massive movement of muscle and plate armor. "Time is slush here. Hard to measure. Maybe ten cycles? Maybe fifty. The Sky opens. The Sky closes. Sometimes it spits out a toaster. Sometimes it spits out a Glimmuck."
He pointed a claw at Nix.
"You smell of the High Veil," Korg noted. "I smell Elf-magic on you. Faint. Old."
Nix stiffened. "I have traveled," he said evasively.
"And you," Korg pointed at Raina. "You smell of... iron. And grease. And sadness."
Raina blinked. "Sadness?"
"Deep sadness," Korg nodded sagely. "Like a cub who lost its mother. You carry a heavy stone in your chest, little female."
Raina felt tears prick at her eyes. It was the mead. It had to be the mead. Or the exhaustion. Or the fact that a giant bear was psychoanalyzing her.
"I've had a bad day," Raina whispered. "A really bad day."
"Weald is a bad place," Korg agreed. "But fire is good. Mead is good. Company..." He looked at them, his yellow eyes assessing. "Company is acceptable."
Nix hopped off his log. He was too wired to sit still. The mead seemed to have just given him more energy.
"Okay, sentimental bonding time is over," Nix announced. "We have shelter. We have a tank. Now we need a strategy. Korg, do you know where the Thin Spots are? The places where the Veil is weak?"
Korg scratched his chin with a claw that could eviscerate a horse.
"The Whispering Glade," Korg said. "South. Two days walk. The voices of the other side come through there. Ghosts."
"Not ghosts," Nix corrected immediately. "Audio bleed-through. Resonance echoes. That is promising. If sound can get through, a signal can get through."
"It is dangerous," Korg warned. "The Spider-Kin live near the Glade. They trap the sounds. They trap the meat."
"Of course they do," Raina sighed. "Because why would it be easy?"
She stood up. The mead went to her head, and she swayed slightly. Korg reached out a massive hand to steady her. His palm was rough, like warm sandpaper, but his touch was surprisingly gentle.
"Careful," Korg rumbled. "Gravity is heavy today."
"I'm fine," Raina lied. She looked at Nix. "Two days? We have to walk for two days through this hell?"
"Unless you want to live here," Nix said, gesturing to the cave. "It is cozy. Nice ambiance. But the Wi-Fi is terrible."
Raina looked around the cave. At the strange, glowing mushrooms. At the pile of human trash revered as treasure. At the bear who was lonely enough to learn English just to talk to the garbage that fell from the sky.
"No," Raina said. "We go back. We have to go back. Marcus... Marcus is waiting."
"Then we sleep," Korg decided. He kicked a pile of furs toward them. "You sleep. I watch. Fire keeps the shadows away."
Raina looked at the furs. They looked comfortable. Suddenly, the exhaustion crashed over her like a physical wave. She couldn't take another step. She couldn't think another thought.
She collapsed onto the furs. Nix curled up on a smaller pile nearby, looking like a sleeping gargoyle.
Raina stared at the ceiling of the cave. The blue fungus glowed like stars in a night sky.
"Nix?" she whispered.
"Status?" Nix mumbled, already drifting off.
"If I wake up in the diner," Raina said, her voice thick with sleep. "I'm going to be so mad at you."
"And if you wake up here?" Nix asked.
Raina watched the shadow of the bear on the wall. The massive, armored guardian watching over them.
"Then I guess we go hunt some spiders," Raina murmured.
She closed her eyes.
For the first time since falling through the floor of the world, she didn't dream of falling. She dreamed of a machine. A machine that could fix anything. Even a broken world. Even a broken girl.
The fire popped. Korg hummed a low, vibrating tune, a song deep in his chest that sounded like the earth itself singing a lullaby.
And outside, in the dark and the wet and the rot of the Weald, something shrieked. But inside, behind the iron door, it was warm.
Scientific Addendum: The Biomechanics of the Boar-Kin
While Raina slept, Nix did not.
The Glimmuck waited until Raina's breathing evened out into the deep, rhythmic rhythm of delta-wave sleep. Then, he sat up. He adjusted his glasses. He pulled his small notebook and a stub of a pencil from his pocket.
He looked at Korg.
"I have a query," Nix whispered.
Korg looked at him. The bear was sharpening his axe with a whetstone. Shhhk. Shhhk.
"Ask," Korg grunted.
"The Boar-Kin," Nix said. "Their technology. The blunderbusses. The iron shoes. They do not have the manufacturing capacity for that. They are scavengers, yes, but smelting requires forges. Gunpowder requires chemistry. Who is supplying them?"
Korg stopped sharpening the axe. He looked into the fire. His expression, if a bear could have one, was grim.
"The Dark Tower," Korg said. "In the North. The smoke rises. The metal comes from there."
"The Dark Tower," Nix scribbled in his notebook. "Is it... inhabited?"
"The Pale Man," Korg said. "He does not sleep. He does not eat. He builds."
Nix froze. The pencil snapped in his hand.
"The Pale Man," Nix repeated. "Describe him."
"Tall," Korg said. "Thin. Like a skeleton dipped in wax. He wears the white coat. He makes the monsters strong."
Nix felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cave's temperature. He knew that description. He had heard the legends in the High Veil. The stories of the exiled Technomancer. The Biologist who tried to play god and was thrown into the pit.
"He's here," Nix whispered to the flames. "By the Gears... he's here."
"Bad man," Korg agreed. "We stay away from North. We go South. To the ghosts."
"Yes," Nix said, his mind racing with terrifying implications. "South is good. South is very good."
He looked at Raina, sleeping peacefully. He decided not to tell her about the Pale Man. She had reached her saturation point for impossible things today. A mad scientist in a tower making cyborg pigs might just break her.
"Sleep well, Rainy," Nix whispered. "Tomorrow, the difficulty level increases."
He closed his notebook. He lay back down. But he kept one eye open, watching the shadows dance on the wall, wondering what else was watching them back.