2: The Flower Cave (I)

Miciah woke up to the strong smell of flowers, and a red ceiling.

At first, as he stared up, he couldn't remember what had happened. Then, it came back to him: he had been in a carriage, heading back home, when a wave of corpses had attacked them. He had pulled out his sword, fought them off as long as he could, and then... and then what? He couldn't remember.

The ceiling was high above. Miciah, who was laying on his back on the floor, squinted to see what it was. The red was caused by flowers, covering the entire ceiling.

The entire ceiling of what? Where was he? Miciah tried to get up, but realized that he couldn't. He frowned as he looked at his arms.

The reason he couldn't move was because his limbs were buried in layers of dirt. It was like they were his roots, and the person who buried him was trying to keep him alive. It reminded Miciah of someone repotting a plant.

From above, Miciah could see a small opening in the roof. Sunlight streamed in, right onto his face. Well, the first thing would be to get out of the chamber. The cave? The stone made it seem like it was underground, but he couldn't be sure.

Several feet of dirt covered him, but it wasn't a problem for Miciah. His hand was half-closed under everything, and he opened his hand fully. At the same time, he thought of what he wanted to happen.

The dirt exploded outward, raining down on the flowers around him. Miciah stood up, and looked down at himself. He wore all black; a wrapped shirt tucked loosely into pants. While the warriors in Baicia opted for sand-colored clothes, it was for camouflage only. Under the thick clothes was a thin layer of heat-resistant clothing. The combination of both layers kept him cool in the day, and warm at night.

Currently, his clothes were covered in dirt. Miciah flicked his sleeve, and all the dirt dispersed at once, collapsing into small piles by his feet.

The next thing would be to get out of the chamber. He looked around. The chamber was large and made out of stone, with red flowers covering the walls, floor, and ceiling. He could see a doorway-shaped hole in the chamber, about ten feet up on the wall. Miciah frowned again. He might be able to get out, but most people wouldn't. It seemed like this chamber was made for people to enter, but not leave.

Who made this chamber? Who planted these flowers? How had he gotten to where he was? Miciah took a step, and heard a crunching noise. He looked down. What he had stepped on was the wrist of a corpse.

Miciah jumped back, nearly tripping on piles of dirt as he hurried away. He took deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He wasn't afraid of corpses - he had seen his fair share, and created his fair share. But he hadn't expected to see one here.

Miciah steadied himself, and then stepped forward again. He held out his hand, and the dirt weighed on the flowers in front of him, pushing them aside. He couldn't move the flowers directly, since they were living things, but the dirt was dead. He pushed the flowers until he unearthed an entire body. The corpse lay there, grey as a sheet. The corpse's clothes were tattered and the flesh on his arm was decayed. Some of the flowers had grown straight into him.

Had this corpse been like him? Had he woken up in this chamber, and, unable to get out, been forced to watch as the flowers grew into his own skin?

A thought came into Miciah's head. He held out his hand again, this time in a more general movement. All of the flowers on the floor tilted to their sides so he could see what was under them. It was as Miciah had suspected: around him, the sickly sweet smell of the flowers had been covering up the graveyard beneath. There must have been at least fifty corpses, and he suspected that he would find more if he unearthed the dirt, too. They all had charred skin and and rotted clothes, and their eyes were all grey, like dead rabbits. They stared up at the ceiling, unblinking.

Steadying himself, Miciah looked up at the doorway in the wall. More questions raced through his head - who were these corpses? How had they died? Was he meant to become one of them? Whoever had killed them, why did they preserve the bodies like this?

What was this place?

He had to get out of here. He didn't know what would happen if he stayed in this chamber, and he didn't want to stick around to find out. Miciah looked at the hole in the ceiling. It would take longer, but he could potentially leave the place entirely through that. He would have, too, if not for curiosity. He wanted to get answers to his questions.

So, Miciah walked up to the wall, careful to not step on any of the corpses. He put his hand to the stone wall, and felt around. It was darker over here, and he couldn't see much. His fingers hit ridges on the wall, and small stones came off as he felt around. There was too much stone, so he wouldn't be able to move the entire wall. If he wanted to try, he would have to sit there for days, becoming familiar with each nook and cranny in the chamber before he would be familiar enough with the wall to budge it.

Instead, he turned and looked at the dirt behind him. He had used his hand the last few times he moved the dirt, and by now he had formed a solid enough connection that he didn't need to. Miciah narrowed his eyes, and the dirt in the chamber shot up. It spun around itself, coiling tighter and tighter and tighter, before settling in one big mound. Miciah moved out of the way, and the mound set itself in front of the wall. With a slight twist of his head, the densely-packed dirt formed a staircase, and Miciah climbed it up to the doorway. As he stepped off, the dirt pile collapsed.

The hallway, despite not emitting any light into the chamber, was actually lit by lanterns that lined the ceiling. Miciah put his hand on the wall and closed his eyes. His eyes moved under his closed eyelid, and he opened them a moment later.

Around him, as far as he could tell, was rock. His assumption earlier was right - he was underground, although it was hard to say if he was in a cave or not. The only thing to do now would be to start walking.

He didn't need to put a hand along the wall. If he concentrated, he could tell what objects were around him without seeing them. On the sides of the hallway were openings that seemed to be covered by some sort of cloth. As Miciah passed them, he didn't bother looking in.

Miciah didn't know how long he had been walking. The passageway sloped downwards and curled in on itself in a spiral. Finally, he got to an opening that was different from the other ones. Unlike the other openings, this one was covered with an actual door. The lighting in this hallway was brighter than the other ones, so he could see clearly. The door was made of a light wood, and there were no windows in it. Instead of a door handle, there were two circular indents - one at a normal level, and one about a foot below it - to slide the door into the wall. Miciah tried it, but found that the door was locked.

The door was thin, much thinner than stone, so Miciah didn't need to close his eyes to be able to tell what was behind it. There were no chains - it was locked only by a key. After feeling around for a moment, he found the slim keyhole.

Miciah passed his hand over the keyhole, and with a click, the door unlocked. He pushed it to the side into the stone wall, and entered the room.

He paused. The room was big, and the floor was covered with a carpet. On the far end of the room, sunlight streamed in through curtain-covered windows. There was a luxurious bed pressed against a corner, and a matching sofa sat next to a large armoire. Plush chairs were placed around the room. The cushions on the sofa, bed, and chairs were embroidered with bright colors, and stuffed dolls were thrown around the room. The walls that didn't have furniture on them were covered in chalk drawings.

If he didn't know any better, he would think that this was a child's room.

Ignoring everything else, Miciah went to the windows. Whoever had made them had carved out small portions at a time, leaving an array of stone bars. The sections were still big enough to look out of, and Miciah looked down as far as he could see.

Below was only fog and clouds. He stuck out his hand through the gap into the cold air, and closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, he knew for sure - he was on a mountain. That explained the stone and the downward spiral of pathways.

Miciah knew that he could break the stone bars. Unlike the wall earlier, the bars were thin. With just a touch of his hand, the bars would shatter. But even if he did, then what? He could only vaguely tell how far up the mountain was, and he certainly didn't know what was at the bottom. If he jumped, he would most definitely die. He would have to get to the bottom of the mountain from the inside first, and then escape.

Something was touching Miciah's foot. He glanced down to see a crudely-made stuffed bear that had been on the floor. The canvas was sewn together with thick thread, and buttons were attached clumsily. One of the ears had stuffing coming out of it. He reached down to pick it up-

"Do you like it?" A silvery voice said. Miciah quickly looked up, to see a man standing in the doorway.

The young man was around his age, with long, white hair that trailed loosely down his back, and lazily cut bangs. His skin was white and his clothes - several layers of intricate, loose robes that stopped just before the ground - were also white. He looked nothing like Baicians, with dark skin and strong features. He was sharp: he had sharp eyes and sharp facial bones, and even his fingers dangling by his sides seemed sharp. Miciah's eyes lingered on the hair, at least four times as long as his own.

Miciah stood up without touching the bear.

"Who are you?" He asked coolly. Instead of responding right away, the man smiled, as if he had said something funny.

"You don't know? Didn't your sister tell you about me?"

"My sister?" Miciah's eyes flashed, but his voice was as calm as it always was, "How do you know my sister?"

The man reached up to casually push his hair behind his ear, revealing a silver earring. It was attached to the side of his ear with a cuff, and then a chain connected it to a small, delicate red feather that hung from his earlobe. A smooth, red carnelian stud fastened the feather to his ear.

Miciah froze.

"I suppose she didn't say anything about me," he seemed genuinely disappointed. "You only recognized me after seeing this."

That would explain it. If it was Icarus Kaelen, he could easily take him from the carriage. That would also explain the corpses that had attacked them, as well as the corpses in the flower chamber.

Now that Miciah was thinking about the carriage, he wondered if Ilo was alright.

"My driver," he said, "Did you take her, too?"

"Hm?" Icarus was still absorbed in his earring, and didn't realize what had been said at first, "Oh, the pretty one? Don't worry - she's fine. I let her off."

He let her off? Icarus Kaelen was known for never leaving survivors - Eren had been an exception. The exception was so rare, in fact, that she had been suspected of treason when she had gotten home. "Why did you take me? What do you want?"

Icarus stepped forward and crossed the room, so that he was facing Miciah. Now that he was this close to him, he could smell the scent of flowers on him. It was a lighter smell than the smell in the chamber, but it was obviously the same flower. Miciah was around an inch shorter than him, but with his back straight and his jaw set, they seemed the same height.

Icarus acted as if Miciah hadn't spoken. Instead, he reached out a hand toward Miciah's hair. Miciah moved to dodge, but found that he couldn't. He was rooted to the spot, and had no choice but to let Icarus touch his hair. His fingers were ice cold, like the corpses that he kept, but his touch was gentle. It seemed like he was petting a small animal. The touch calmed Miciah, but he couldn't tell if the calm came from Icarus's hand or from his Ability.

"Your hair is different from your sister's," he said. "Straighter."

While Miciah's hair wasn't "straight", it leaned more towards wavy than curly. He had gotten their father's hair, while his sister had gotten their mother's.

Icarus took a step back, and Miciah unfroze. He wanted to take a swing at him, but knew that there was no point. As soon as he raised his hand, he would freeze again. He couldn't bring the roof down - it would crush him, too, and was beyond his capabilities anyway.

"You don't live in this room, do you?" It wasn't really a question. Miciah made eye contact, and didn't look away. Icarus's expression didn't change, but his skin seemed to get slightly paler.

"Don't stay in here," he said, "Come with me."

Then, he turned and left. Miciah had the feeling that if he didn't come, Icarus wouldn't force him to or ask again. Instead, he would just leave him, like he hadn't been there in the first place. Making a quick decision, Miciah followed him. As soon as they got into the hallway, Icarus paused. Miciah felt his hand reach out of its own accord, and close the door gently behind them. As soon as he finished the action, his arm was under his own control again.

"Please, don't enter that room again," Icarus said.

"I won't, if you answer my question," Miciah said, "Why did you bring me here? What do you want?"

Icarus had attacked many towns just outside of the Baician border, so Miciah wasn't exactly surprised that he had been taken. Nobody knew what Icarus's conflict with Baicia was. Why had he chosen now to take Miciah? Why had he left Ilo alive, knowing that she would just go back to Baicia and tell everyone what had happened?

Icarus turned towards him. Throughout the entire exchange, Icarus had kept a small smile on his face, and his voice was laced with a child's delight. Under the circumstances, Miciah should have felt like he was a toy, a plaything. But, he didn't. Miciah's intuition told him that something more complicated was going on.

"Why didn't you just kill me?"

Icarus lifted his arm, and raised a finger directly at Miciah. The sleeve of his robe hung down, and Miciah could see that the embroidery around the hems extended to the inside of the robe as well.

Nothing could have prepared Miciah for what Icarus was about to say next:

"Because I want to know you."