The air is thick where I've been.

A fictional character Telling. Meet Malketh.

You will notice the voice. Everyone does. I'll wait.

Good. Now: I'm going to make you an offer. You're going to think about it longer than you expect, and at the end of that time you're going to take it — not because I pressured you, but because you'll have worked out that the alternatives cost more than this does.

Here is what I know about the thing you're carrying: it's heavier than you're telling anyone. You've been carrying it with your jaw set because if you stop holding the shape of a person who can manage, the shape might stop being true. I've done this. The weight doesn't go anywhere. It goes deeper, which is not the same as going away.

My name has been crossed out in chalk more times than I can count.

Still here. Still warm.

Some fires are brighter when buried. You'll work out what that means for your situation. I can't do that part for you.

The offer stands.

Visual

Red-skinned, bull-horned, vast. The armour is not ceremonial — it has been used and repaired and used again. The axe is carried loosely, the way a person carries something that has been in their hand so long it no longer registers as weight. He walks ahead through the dust and the other one follows, which is not hierarchy — it is geometry. His bulk parts the air. She reads what's left.

The voice arrives before anything else does.

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