“Stay back!” Taavet snarled, his voice a low growl that vibrated through Niemi’s chest. He pulled her tighter, shielding her with his body from Oili’s approach. The syringe in Oili’s hand seemed to gleam, a sickly amber against the dim solarium light. “I don’t know what foulness you intend, Matron, but you will not touch her.”
Oili’s smile remained fixed, unyielding. “Why, Taavet, dear boy. This is merely a soothing draught for your little maid. She’s quite distressed. See the marks?” Her gaze flickered to the raw, fiery sigils on Niemi’s exposed skin, then back to Taavet, a glint of predatory amusement in her eyes.
Niemi’s head swam. The runes throbbed with a burning, insistent rhythm that threatened to consume her. She could barely form a coherent thought, let alone offer a cheery quip. But she had to move. She couldn’t let Oili inject her with whatever ritualistic accelerant that vile liquid was. It would bind her even tighter to the sacrificial purpose.
With a strength that surprised her, Niemi pushed a weak hand against Taavet’s shoulder. “I-I’m fine,” she managed, her voice a thin, reedy imitation of her usual cheer. “Just… a bit dizzy. Perhaps a nap in my own bed.” She forced a wobbly smile, hoping he’d catch the hint to *get her away from Oili*.
Taavet seemed to understand. His terror for her overrode any lingering suspicion. He spun, cradling her close, and launched himself through the solarium doors. “You will not follow!” he roared over his shoulder, a storm of abyssal shadow-spikes erupting from his back, tearing through the air and slamming into the stone archway of the solarium entrance. The crystalline obsidian fangs knitted together, forming an impenetrable barrier that vibrated with raw, corrupted power. None of the students, or even Oili, would be getting through that.
He stormed through the Valamo corridors, ignoring the gasps and stares of the few students they passed. His urgency was a physical force, a desperate need to find refuge. Niemi, half-conscious against his chest, felt the strange sensation of being carried by a walking storm. The cold, damp air of the East Wing was a relief after the humid solarium. He kicked open the door to her small, water-stained room, barging inside without ceremony.
Once in the relative safety of her quarters, Taavet didn’t set her down gently. He deposited her onto her cot with the urgency of a man tossing a priceless, fragile artifact into a vault. Then, with another surge of his corrupted power, he sealed her door shut from the inside, not with a simple lock, but with a web of interlocking shadow-spikes that pierced through the frame, fusing with the stone. No one was getting in, or out, without his say-so.
His gaze, wild and unfocused, swept around the room. “Grimoires,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. He began tearing through the stacked, water-warped books on her small, rickety shelf, pulling them down, scattering parchment and dried kelp. “There must be something. A counter-spell. A ward. Something to undo… whatever she did to you.”
Niemi watched him, the world still tilting, but the agonizing burn in her ribs had dulled to a persistent ache now that Oili wasn't actively tormenting her. Kupla, disturbed by the commotion, wriggled out from under her cot. The little axolotl was visibly engorged, its gills twitching, its normally pale body now a sickly grey-green. He’d eaten a lot of miasma today, first from Taavet’s tea, then likely from the Solarium's air, and even the ambient corruption around Niemi from Oili’s attack. Kupla made a soft, burbling sound, a quiet complaint as he nudged her ankle.
“Kupla?” Niemi whispered, her voice still weak. The axolotl turned its head, its small, black eyes fixed on a barely visible seam in the floorboards near the far wall. A faint, greenish glow, almost imperceptible, emanated from the crack. It was the color of concentrated miasma.
Taavet was still frantic, muttering to himself, flinging open ancient texts with a desperate frenzy. He wouldn’t notice her for a while. This was her chance. With a grunt, Niemi pushed herself up, ignoring the protest from her burning ribs. She shuffled towards the glowing crack, Kupla leading the way. The axolotl’s body was quivering, its entire being pulled towards the source of the miasma.
Beneath a loose floorboard, hidden by a tattered rug, was a rusted drainage grate. Kupla pressed himself against it, his gills flaring, as if trying to absorb the very essence flowing beneath. Niemi tugged at the grate. It groaned, giving way with a metallic shriek that Taavet, absorbed in his frantic search, didn't even register.
A blast of raw, cold miasma, thick with the scent of stagnant salt and decay, billowed up from the opening. Niemi peered down into the darkness. A crude, damp ladder descended into the abyss, leading to what looked like a subterranean chamber carved directly out of the salt-marsh earth. The glowing miasma was brighter down there, pulsating.
With Kupla tucked into her loose sleeve, Niemi began her descent, each rung slick with slime. The air grew heavier, colder, pressing down on her lungs. At the bottom, a cavern opened up, its walls slick with brackish water. But it wasn’t just water. The entire chamber was adorned with… sculptures. Not of stone, but of bodies. Drained, desiccated husks, their skin pulled taut over bone, covered in a grotesque tapestry of coral and barnacles. Their vacant eye sockets stared, frozen in silent screams. She recognized the tattered remnants of maid uniforms on some of them, the same drab grey she wore. These were Oili’s *previous* sacrifices. The horrifying truth clicked into place: this was Oili’s ritual chamber, built directly into the foundations of the sinking Valamo estate, feeding the abyssal corruption right into the building, right into Taavet.
A cold, syrupy voice slithered through the damp air, echoing from the tunnel Niemi had just descended. “Such a curious little maid you are, Niemi. Always poking your pretty nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Niemi froze. Oili. The Matron stood at the bottom of the ladder, her face a mask of sweet, grandmotherly concern, but her eyes held the depthless chill of the ocean floor. In her hands, a gnarled, kelp-wrapped staff pulsed with a sickly green light.
“I wondered why my black salt wasn’t having the desired effect,” Oili continued, taking a slow, deliberate step towards Niemi. “A shame, really. I had such high hopes for that brew. But then, a little bird told me you had a… peculiar pet. A little axolotl, perhaps? One that enjoys a salty snack?” Her gaze dropped to Niemi’s sleeve, and Kupla, sensing the danger, burrowed deeper, trembling.
Niemi swallowed, her throat dry. Her heart thrummed against her ribs, the sacrificial runes flaring with renewed pain. “I… I don’t know what you mean, Matron.” She forced a smile, but it felt brittle, ready to shatter.
Oili chuckled, a sound like grinding shells. “Oh, you know perfectly well, child. And you also know that such disobedience comes at a cost.” Her staff slammed against the wet earth, and a searing pain erupted in Niemi’s chest. The sacrificial runes pulsed violently, their agony forcing her to her knees. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed onto the muddy ground, gasping, her vision blurring at the edges.
“I’ve been too lenient with you, Niemi,” Oili purred, her voice devoid of its usual warmth. She bent, her face unnervingly close, a sickly sweet scent of decay emanating from her. Her gnarled hand, tipped with long, black nails, reached for Niemi’s mouth. “A maid’s tongue should be used for pleasantries, for obedience. Not for lies. And certainly not for thwarting my plans.”
The pain in Niemi’s chest intensified, a crushing weight that threatened to burst her lungs. She tried to scream, but no sound escaped. Oili’s clawed digits pried open Niemi’s jaw, her grip surprisingly strong. A single, razor-sharp nail extended, glinting in the faint miasma light, poised above Niemi’s tongue. “The Calamity awakens not just with your death, sweet child,” Oili whispered, her smile widening into a rictus of pure malice, “but with his utter, soul-shattering betrayal of you right before your last breath.”