4.2.25 - The 9 Eyed King and His Blind Fate pt 3

Parable 3 – Toatao and the Hollow Shell

Pel covered the mouth of the individual hiding with him in the supply wagon. With his other hand, he lifted the guanco armor to let in a sliver of light—just enough to see. He felt around in the dark until he heard a familiar giggle.

"Iris! What are you doing here?" Pel whispered, trying not to alert the wagon handler.

"Would you believe me if I said I don’t know...?" Iris replied.

"What... how could you not know!? But—" Pel started, then raised a finger to his lips.

"Well... I fell asleep here...? Pelican, leave me be. What are you doing here, hmm??"

"I was about to get to that. I’m trying to sneak into a hunt with Father! They’re going after gruhana eggs—it’s supposed to be a biiiiiiig nest," Pel whispered excitedly.

The wagon came to a stop. A commotion stirred outside. Humans and aydhams hustled between the wagon and Rocco, the great goratha dandra.

Unable to resist, Pel peeked over the edge of the wagon.

Boxes were being transported into Rocco’s storage pod. His legs connected to the pod’s main body via hydroxer portals—rings inlaid with transfer gems. Pel’s gurasara once explained how the gems de-materialize and re-materialize cargo, but not people—the complexity of living matter was too great to survive the process.

"I have to make it to the back right foot..." Pel mumbled, not low enough to keep Iris from hearing his scheming.

I can hide in a guanco box, sneak into the air duct, follow the advance party, and scavenge after they clean forward... then sneak back with a full knapsack.

"I’ll go with you! I sneak into those all the time. Back right, right? That’s how scavengers steal from the f..." Iris stopped as she noticed Pel already lost in thought.

Iris took initiative. She grabbed Pel, tossed the guanco armor aside, and leapt down. They threw the armor over their heads and strolled confidently through the bustle, unnoticed amidst the clamor.

No one stopped them. No one even looked.

Father didn’t leave a guard... and no one saw us. Iris is... kind of cool... Pel felt heat in his cheeks.

They ascended the ramp to the storage pod—ten times their height in size. It functioned like an entire moving fortress: crates of bapples, frozen goratha meat, precious gruhana eggs, racks of staffs, bows, hymn-infused weapons, and coats. Practice tomes. Rune-gloves. A room of silence and surplus.

Where’s that duct entrance again... Pel thought, distracted by memories of playing here while Father worked. The name of the human boy he used to play with danced just out of reach.

Iris tugged Pel behind a pile of dox furs near the weapon racks. Absol’s team had clearly been working here—their preparations sat in neat, lethal rows.

"I’m grabbing a shield. Just in case," Pel said, walking toward the gear. He tested one: goratha-skin straps, translucent pane gem center, small hymn gems inlaid around the rim. Runes etched between them like tiny prayers.

"You should grab one too. These usually hold a couple Cantorian hymns—might even summon part of a toatao." Pel offered.

Iris crossed her arms and raised a brow. "Maybe not that one, Pelican. That looks like one they prepped. Grab a sling or bow."

She looks mad. But we’re in the spare room… they always overpack...

"No big deal. We’re in the backup room. That’s why Father wants to rush this—first nest in a while. Farm sales have dropped. We haven’t donated to the orphanage all season. Solfall’s slowed trade, but Father says it’ll pick up after the next one."

"Okay, okay. Maybe they’re crafting more out there anyway."

"Exactly. Help me find the side port—it moves whenever the connector shifts."

Pel wandered through the pod. Through the shifting crates and echoing hollow. He spotted it: a flowing topaz scarf tied to the flexible connector. It danced with every sway.

"Over here, Iris! I’m going in to see what they’re planning!" he called.

Iris gave a thumbs-up. Pel dropped his gear and climbed into the connector tube. One forearm after the other, he dragged himself through. Legs twisted like rope, body slithering forward in silence.

The darkness thickened. He found the hatch. Twisted it left. Heard the click. Slid inside.

The grate path took him over the kitchen. A washroom. A rec-room.

Then—there they were.

His father. Absol. Theodam. Three hired mercs from the village. Seated around a shell projector, light casting over weathered faces.

Roc stood at the center.

“The nest’s been mapped. Roving pearl shows at least three clusters with a fed core. Looks like we’ve got a minimum of twenty-seven gruhanas to dress. No heart this time—we don’t have the capacity to carry or process it. But this haul should pay us out through the season.”

He tapped the shell. “War’s choking the trade roads. Donations are down. Storage’s tight. We’re hunting again. Not for glory. For survival.”

He paced.

“Teams 1 and 2 go after Nest 3. Teams 3 and 4 take Nest 2. I’ll go for Nest 1 alone. Keep the plan tight. Turn 'em, burn 'em, crack the shell.”

Pel stared.

By yourself, old man... he thought.

Then crawled backward, mind racing. Which party should he follow? What if Roc needed help?

He slipped back into the storage pod as Rocco rumbled to life.

They were moving.

And Pel wasn’t turning back.