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Chapter Text

Prologue

Alemora Tribe, Lurenark

Atolio

Atolio knew this day would come since he became a teacher.

Not many moths worked outside of their tribes, preferring their insular, self-sustaining communities without the beetles’ influence. But Atolio loved teaching as much as he loved learning, and in his sixty years of life, he had learned a lot. He didn’t consider anything impossible for him to grasp; from complex magic to non-magical engineering, he considered himself something of a theoretical jack-of-all-trades, devouring all types of surface-level knowledge to impart to the bug children he taught.

When he received the missive that he was chosen as a Sacrifice, it came as no surprise. Though the Elders usually went after those with expert-level knowledge in one area, the Entity seemed to become dissatisfied with this, its mental voice asking for more minds, more shells, more knowledge than it was fed, lest it crawl out of the Pits and choose its own victims.

So the Elders went after those who were generally well-learned, and this year, Atolio was the chosen one.

He was escorted by a group of Tribe Elders surrounding him on all sides, their wings partly spread to keep him from running away. He was also accompanied by the students he had mentored over the years and, most painfully, his daughter. He wanted to reassure her in some way, but he was under a silencing spell to keep him from protesting his fate (or vocalizing anything at all) and his hands were bound. He couldn’t fly; they pinned his own wings down to prevent his escape for once he became fodder for the Entity. There was no turning back, neither on the cobblestone path nor in the air. All there was for Atolio was a straight path to the Pit.

Once they arrived at the precipice, Atolio looked down at the orange fungus deep below. He could see fragments of shells within the writhing mass, and he could already feel the reach of the Entity, its warm touch gentle on his head and his antennae as it inspected him.

“Do you approve of our Sacrifice?” one of the Elders asked the Entity.

I approve, the Entity whispered within their heads, its voice one of many layered one atop the other. Atolio could hear his late wife within it, and tears beaded at the corners of his eyes.

I’ll be with you soon, my love, he said in his mind.

You will, said the Entity. That is for certain.

Atolio assumed one of the Elders would push him in, perhaps with one of their staves, but it was the Entity Itself that grabbed him, its once-gentle touch like hundreds of claws at once, grabbing at his shell and wings, tugging his antennae, and forcing his mouth open as it crawled through his probiscus and to his mind.

As he fell, what made him Atolio ceased to exist.

He was now the Entity, and the Entity was him.

And it still hungered.

Chapter Text

Chapter One

Alemora Tribe, Lurenark

Loren

This wasn’t Loren’s first execution, but they hoped it would be their last.

The Alemora Tribe was charged with appeasing the Cordyceps every year, as the Moth Council decreed it—after all, Alemora dwelled closest to the Pit, a vast gaping wound revealing what was believed to be the main body of the Cordyceps. Loren didn’t like approaching it on a good day; the voices emanating from the Pit and slithering into their mind made them nauseous, especially when they recognized the voices speaking to them.

The Annual Sacrifice began long before Loren’s twenty years of life, and they heard stories of it even when they were a voracious little caterpillar. From what they knew back then, the Sacrifice was chosen based on knowledge and scholastic achievement. The Cordyceps ate minds, and the greater the mind It encountered, the better the meal it would be for It. Loren’s mother told them the tradition was not only good for the Tribe, but for the Empire as a whole, for if the Cordyceps devoured and took over a great mind full of enough knowledge and wisdom, It would not crave more minds for a while.

Loren wasn’t sure how true that was. Whenever they ended up near the Pit, It spoke to them anyway, enticing them to come closer, come see what real power and knowledge looked like. They knew It could not leave the Pit—powerful wards were able to keep It at bay as long as the Cordyceps did not grow too aggressive, and if It was fed, It would be peaceful.

Still, Loren didn’t think a well-fed entity would be trying to eat more if It didn’t need to.

And this sacrifice tonight proved them to be utterly correct.

They walked with the other elected Executioners, some being students of Atolio, others being Elders, and one being Atolio’s daughter. Loren didn’t know her particularly well, but they did feel bad for her; when she was a caterpillar, her mother had been a chosen Sacrifice, and now, she was losing her father. Beneficial or not, Loren found these decisions to be unnecessarily cruel—choosing two from the same family disgusted them.

She sobbed into her silk handkerchief as Atolio was taken to the edge of the Pit’s cliff, hiccupping cries shaking her form and forcing her black-and-white speckled wings open. Loren thought they would have cried, too, but they found themself walking in utter numbness, not even looking up at Atolio to assess his state of mind.

When Atolio stood at the precipice, one of the Elders asked, “Do you approve of our Sacrifice?”

Loren knew this was simply ritual, but the Sacrifice had been chosen several moons ago through an interpretation of the Cordyceps from the Elders themselves. Even the last few years Loren had participated, they found this part unnecessary.

I approve, Its reply came, etching Its words into Loren’s mind like a shell carving. Loren reached for their antennae to make the voice quieter, but by the time their hands were raised, the Cordyceps said nothing more.

When the Pit gripped Atolio, Loren averted their eyes, not wanting to watch their teacher be torn apart. They caught a glimpse of orange forced through their mouth like a second proboscis, but mercifully nothing more. They heard Atolio’s daughter retch to the left of them, and they reached over to give her an affectionate pat on the back, but she fluttered a short distance away.

Perhaps there was a reason they never got to know her very well. With the annoyance flickering in her massive green eyes, Loren couldn’t help but wonder if she disliked them for some reason. They couldn’t imagine why.

They could not meditate on this for long, for a cacophony of screams broke their reverie.

At first, Loren couldn’t see what was happening. A cloud of wings and limbs blocked Loren’s vision as the moths rushed away from the Pit. They did indeed find the Pit unnerving, but Loren’s Tribe was used to Its presence. At worst, the moths avoided it, but their lives were centered around keeping It from escaping. They were mostly desensitized to Its presence, though Loren did find watching the sacrifices themselves repugnant.

Needless to say, Loren had never seen moths flee from It.

Loren ascended to get a better view of what was happening, and immediately, they wished they hadn’t. With the tendrils of brilliant orange grabbing Atolio’s limbs, Atolio ascended from the Pit. His peppered wings were limp as the Cordyceps lifted him, not needing to fly when held up by preternatural power. Then the tendrils penetrated his eyes and mouth, and he screamed a cry not at all his own voice, but one that echoed inside Loren’s head like a dagger to his brain. Atolio’s proboscis lolled out of his mouth and attempted to curl around the Cordyceps; it was as though the real Atolio was somewhere in there, still alive, fighting the Entity that possessed his body and mind.

It was to no avail.

As the tendrils got a feel for the mechanics of Atolio’s body, his head hung downward, proboscis went slack, and his wings extended. Then they engaged, far stiffer than usual, and he lunged for the first moths he could reach—a few Elders who were too slow to escape him.

As Loren watched in horror, they realized it was not really Atolio’s claws that grasped them at all—it was the tendrils of the Cordyceps protruding from his hands shredding apart their wings. All the while, the orange mass followed beneath Atolio like a colorful shadow, small tendrils reaching upward. As the moths dropped, the Entity caught them, goring them before they hit the ground. Their bodies followed Atolio’s, stiff imitations of moths with no thought other than killing, as the Cordyceps gored them through their heads, taking their mouths and eyes as It devoured their minds.

The Cordyceps seemed to be taking a little longer to get ahold of the new moths, perhaps due to the number of them, or perhaps their minds altogether had more to eat, but Atolio wasn’t slowing down. The orange tendrils protruding from him grasped for his daughter, who was frozen in midair, hand over her mouth.

“Father, no! It’s me! It’s Kaia!” she screamed, but she was soon silenced by the Cordyceps grasping her hand and forcing her mouth open. She turned away to the best of her ability, squirming in Its grasp.

If Loren was a hero, they would have tried to save her. They could have thrown a dagger, perhaps, or even just tried to pull her away from her Cordyceps-addled father. Perhaps they could have escaped together, flying from the colorful horrors that claimed their people.

But Loren was selfish and self-preserving. Even when their eyes met hers, they had already made up their mind.

They ascended higher and flew toward the Village, leaving Kaia and any remaining moths to die a death most gruesome.

Kaia’s screams echoed into the cavern as Loren fluttered away.

Loren wasn’t wholly selfish. They did have a plan in mind that didn’t simply involve running away.

Though escape was the bulk of their plan, they did intend to tell the rest of the Tribe before the Cordyceps descended upon them. They’d just have to find the Sibyl quickly.

She usually wasn’t hard to find—she was an ornate creature despite her tawny scales, decorating herself in crystals to stay in-tune with the Spirit World.

She also had the mark of a skull between her wings, which Sibyls tended to have. It was said those with the Mark of Death were more in-tune to the Spirit World and therefore more fit to run the Tribe; after all, in moth philosophy, leadership tended to both realms since helping everyone, living or dead, was of equal importance.

From their vantage point in the darkened skies, they saw her, sitting at the central hearth of their village, wings and sets of hands folded as she mediated. Normally, Loren would wonder what she was thinking about, but they had no time today. With a flutter of their wings, they descended, landing gently beside her.

“Sibyl Sirena,” they said, keeping their voice low as they were taught to do whenever the Sibyl was present. “The—”

“I know,” she replied, keeping her eyes closed. “It is my time. I have seen it for many years now.”

It took a moment for what the Sibyl was saying to sink into Loren’s shell. When it did, their stomach dropped. “You knew? You knew the Cordyceps wouldn’t be kept at bay?”

“Indeed.”

“And you told no one?”

She opened one black eye, Loren seeing their own disheveled reflection within it. “I had seen this for many years. If I did tell, the Tribe would not continue as they were, and the Tribe deserved a good life of ignorance. Life as we knew it would halt. Living with heavy burdens is the weight of being the Sibyl.”

“But maybe we could have—”

“—Stopped it?” the Sibyl asked. “Child, no. The Cordyceps is more vast than any being on our planet. It transcends mortality and even our gods. All we can do is live with It until we no longer can.”

“So what now? We just die?”

“You have another path.”

Just when Loren was about to ask what they were supposed to do about it, the fluttering of wings distracted them, and they looked up to see none other than Kaia.

Kaia, who was covered in cuts seeping blue hemolymph. Kaia, whose wings were tattered, likely from fighting off her father.

Kaia, who Loren left to die.

Loren felt their antennae flatten in fear. As Kaia landed, leaving dust and a dramatic swish of her skirts with the impact, Loren’s pulse quickened.

Now they would face their sins.

“I’m sorry—” Loren began.

Kaia had none of it. She approached them and, quick as a blink, slapped them across the face.

“You monster! ” she spat. “ Murderer! Coward! ”

Loren opened their mandibles to reply, but was interrupted by the Sibyl herself placing an aging yet elegant hand on Kaia’s shoulder.

“Here is the other key to unlock your path, Loren,” Sibyl Sirena said. “You two will work together.”

“Absolutely not.” Kaia crossed all four of her arms. “I refuse to work with the recreant who left me to perish at the tendrils of the Cordyceps!”

Loren swallowed a lump of fear in their throat. “I was just trying to survive!”

“So was I!” Kaia argued. “You already sacrificed my father! The least you could do was help me!”

“I did not say it would be easy,” Sibyl Sirena replied gently. “The bond with between you will be tenuous at the start. But you will save the world.”

“Right,” Kaia said with an angry chitter. “Because the daughter of a random teacher and a shell-less freak will be able to bear the weight of a whole world .”

“The Universe works in mysterious ways, Kaia,” the Sibyl said. “The Universe chose you two for a reason.”

“Oh? And what awful reasoning did your Universe have for that?”

“ Our Universe, dear Kaia. But it is not for me to show you. We do not have time. Instead, you need to leave.”

“Right, because running away is how you save your people.” Kaia looked pointedly at Loren.

Loren did their best to shield themselves with their wings, wearing them like a cloak to hide their fear-shudders.

“I have two bags for you,” the Sibyl continued, ignoring Kaia. “You will take them, and you will fly out of here. You will go east.”

Kaia gave Sibyl Sirena just as much attention as the Sibyl granted her. “Where is everyone? Where is my aunt? My little cousins? What about the Elders?”

“They are not your problem now.”

“What do you—”

“Kaia. I know this is difficult, but you need to recognize that their sacrifices are what will allow you to progress on this path. In order to ensure the survival of the world, we must perish. You two must survive.”

Loren watched in horror as the mass of orange began to approach the Tribe in the distance, a writhing mass sliding over the grassy horizon like a wave. Within it glided the claimed moths, bodies broken and contorted beyond salvation. Bile rose in their throat.

“What’s east?” Loren asked.

“The Capitol, obviously,” Kaia said. “I thought you were a scholar.”

The Sibyl did not linger on the insult, though Loren figured they would for days to come. Of course they knew where the Capitol was, but they had never truly focused on life outside of their community. Sure, they had studied it, but they never gave it much thought aside from a place to read about.

Sibyl Sirena interrupted Loren’s thoughts. “You will tell the Scarab King that the Great Threat has been set in motion.”

“That’s thousands of kilometers away,” Kaia said. “Unrealistic to travel there quickly.”

“You will find a way. Your provisions have been packed for you already.” She motioned behind her to two large bundles wrapped in linen, straps woven to carry them with.

“If you had time to pack provisions , you could have done so for the whole Tribe,” Kaia retorted. “You’re damning the Tribe.”

“I have seen all possible routes we can take. This is the only one that ensures survival. I am too old to do this myself—I will perish on the way to the east if I save myself. I will not succeed in saving the Tribe, especially not you. Are you going to damn the world out of anger, Kaia?”

Kaia didn’t seem to know what to say to this. She clenched and unclenched her claws, her antennae moving in uncertainty. Then, with a sigh, she took one of the bags.

“East, you say,” she said, carefully fastening it between her wings.

“Yes, east. It will take time, but it is the best course of action.”

Claws shaking, Loren grabbed theirs. They paused mid-sling, ready to embrace the Sibyl, but she pushed them away.

“No time for pleasantries. You are doing the right thing.” To Kaia, she said, “Your father would be proud.”

With a huff, Kaia lifted off the ground and gave the Sibyl a choice claw. Then, without waiting for Loren, she departed, heading toward the sunrise.

“Go,” the Sibyl said to Loren. “Go now.”

They could see why she was so insistent. The Cordyceps was growing ever closer, a cacophony of whispers echoing in their head as it approached. As they turned to look away from the horrors within it, they saw Kaia fluttering to the sunrise—rough, but in one piece, going toward a light of promise. But the Cordyceps was far brighter, the orange mass glowing like high noon in the opposite direction. Loren felt as though they would be caught between two lights—one that promised oblivion, and one that promised possibility—if they lingered too long.

They would never willingly accept death, especially not in the citrine glow of the grotesque hivemind. It was a true death, a loss of self, and Loren feared that far more than any other.

So they left, but they spared one lingering glance at the Tribe as they ascended.

Immediately, they wished they hadn’t. They saw Sibyl Sirena, arms outstretched, embracing a permanent erasure from the Wheel of Life.

And the Cordyceps was all too willing to give it to her as its tendrils slithered around her extremities and pulled her in.

Swallowing acid, Loren took off, trailing behind Kaia, doing their best to ignore the sounds of gurgling screams and seductive whispers reverberating in their mind.