… And Rivin opens his eyes to oak-yellow walls and a floor of marbled white. He’s at the bottom of the landing, piled before the steps. The light is too bright overhead and doesn’t look quite real. Quite finished. It’s all dull and foggy around the edges.

  Coel is there, looking on nervously besides his sister, the Madame and Clotho, who gazes away with discomfort. Chip too, switching between shouting and consolation, squeezing Rivin’s hand. “You there, buddy?” and then, "What have you done, you haggard old whores?!”

  Atropos gasps, recoiling. “Insolent brat,” she spits in return. “Mind your tongue, or you’ll be next.”

  “Bite me, bitch.”

  “Holy shit, man…” Snickers Slink, checking Rivin’s pulse. “Hey freak, like this?” he calls, glancing over a shoulder.

  Blearily, Rivin's eyes follow and land on Roach, whose snarling and snapping at a curious collection of the youngest Threads, gnashing her teeth and clenching her fingers like claws. “Stay back, little doves, or I’ll eat you right up!”

  “Ugh, idiot,” sighs Slink, turning away. “Ket, like this?”

  Ricket leans over him, eclipsing the light. His nose is bleeding and his eyes have not long stopped, judging by the red tracks down his cheeks. “I saw it too.” He whispers, a droplet falling from his chin to land on Rivin's lips.

  “Ket! Gross!” laughs Slink, shoving the boy away. “Give him some space. Yeesh. Riv, sure could use your help with this lot.”

  “Mama only showed him,” Abi assures from the side. “Sometimes it’s scary, but it'll be okay... Tell them, Coel.”

  Rivin’s eyes find her brothers, latching on, and the boy, sensing his anxiety, smiles slowly. “It’s okay,” he says, but Rivin’s vision is fading, slowly, though more and more each moment. “We’re all back where we should be now.” His lips are numb, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier until—

  He blinks.

  And returns to find that the world has shifted. Rapidly so. They’re in the foyer. The door is open. Roach is in front of him now, helping him pull cloth over his nose and mouth. She smiles tightly. “You’re back.”

  "Did…” He feels motion sick, his vision turning too slow for his head, lagging behind. “Did I make it?” He falls forward and she catches him with two human arms. “I looked back.” He remembers, furrowing his brow. “Did that break everything?”

  “Whoa, slow down. We’ll be outta ‘ere soon. No more tricks.” She reassures, steadying him. “Just gotta get far enough away.”

  Rivin stumbles again, and she holds his arm around her neck, keeping him upright as they step through to join the others, already ahead of them, eyes downcast from the mass of the sick crawling, once more, towards the light.

  “It didn’t feel like a trick.” He looks back. The door closing behind them. “She was…” He trails off, spying a figure through the depleting sliver, a flash of orange hair, striped cheeks, bolt blue eyes glaring past the crack. The Strongest, watching him leave again.

  “We’ve got to get going, Riv. The General won't wait forever.”

  He looks forward.

  Blinks.

  They’re on the road, passing the Swill sentry guards. Roach passes one a coin in the dark. The others are nervous, jittery with it, kicking up dirt to slow time. The white sheet has depleted, the world thick and black and muddy once more, but quiet, terribly so. No music. No sound. No scuttling. Everyone is hiding. Not them.

  “So, how’d you get Daisy to do that?” Slink enquires, slouching as they walk. “You never shared.”

  Roach bends down, pocketing something from the dirt. “It’s a whole thing,” she dismisses, shrugging her shoulders.

  “C’mon, we’re friends now, aren’t we?” he schmoozes, nudging up close once she’s returned to the path. The girl merely pauses, looking up at the teen with wide and glistening eyes, silent and still for a moment that lingers too long.

  “… Friends?”

  He nods vehemently, throwing an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his pit. “For sure. We’ve been through so much together. We’re great friends. Best friends. Friends that share.” He winks.

  Again, she pauses, confused, before smiling crookedly. “I guess that makes sense.”

  He cheers.

  "How are you doing, Riv?” Chip asks from his side. “You feeling any better?”

  Rivin shakes his head. His mouth is splitting dry. His tongue, fat. “No.”

  His friend sighs. “I knew it was a bad idea to go back there. We should have turned tail the second we knew where we were headed.”

  Rivin shakes his head again, struggling for breath. “We needed to get them home.”

  “I guess. Not much of a home, though.”

  Ahead, Roach kicks a tin can to chase as they go, murmuring, "I guess it is relevant," she rationalizes, scratching her head, "if you're going to join my kingdom and all...”

  Slink almost cracks, his eye twitching, but he folds instead with a merry bow and a beckoning of his hand. “With honor, Your Grace.”

  Flattered, nigh on giggling, she takes it, blushing and easily won, and hand in hand, they walk together as she tells him, “I strapped her to a small prototype.”

  “Prototype?”

  Rivin wants to get closer, but his legs are like lead, heavy and dragging.

  “Yeah… A friend of mine built it. A mistake really.” She looks down. “First of many…”

  Slink tilts his head. “He teach you?” and she nods hesitantly before he follows with, “Could you teach me?”

  Roach doesn't answer right away, kicking the can further ahead. “I want to build things… I think.”

  Slink grins. “And I'll blow ‘em up. Natural balance.”

  She returns his smile, though lopsided. “You're quite tricky.”

  Slink pales. “That… a no?”

  She shakes her head. “I like it.”

  He grins widely. “And…?”

  “I'll teach you.”

  Again, he cheers, and Rivin tries not to blink. Tries to get closer. Closer.

  Darkness.

  They’re in The Drip, and he's sunken into a stained couch by the bar. Slink is drinking something steaming, and Chip is nervously watching the scarring prod lying prone by the blind man. The room is mostly empty, and no music plays low or in the dark. No song sung. Sen and Roach are gone.

  His eyes drift to the curtain hiding its outcome, regret heavy in his heart. He was supposed to be there with her. He was supposed to stand tall, and so he tries to rise, to march on through and take the lashing he’s sure she’s receiving, but something tugs at his sleeve. A small hand that settles him back into place. Ricket.

  “Are we seeing the same thing…?” the boy asks. “The same life?”

  Rivin glowers, concerned but so full of cotton. “What?”

  “Do you think it's over?” He wipes the blood from his lip. “Do you think we changed anything?”

  “… What…?” He asks again, temples throbbing.

  “I hope so.”

  His tongue is useless in his mouth. “Ricket, I don’t understand.” He closes his eyes.

  The darkness stands.

  He feels through it.

  Nothing.

  There’s nothing.

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  “That… was awful.” Sen sighs, exasperated, beside him, and Rivin wakes rapidly, gasping for breath and urgent, his fingers digging into the cushion. They’re still in the bar. Everyone is asleep. Slink, on the stool, Chip and Ricket beside him. Roach is—

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s fine.” The boy peels an overripe fruit, carving out the bruises and imperfections to discard, eating little. He glances up at the curtain. “Too good at lying,” and back at the blade. “We’re just pawns, y’know?”

  Rivin licks his lips. He’s thirsty. He downs the nearest glass and winces. Ale. “Why’s that?”

  “That’s how chess works.” He shrugs. “If she’s the Queen.”

  Roach appears partly through the curtain, The General behind her, fondly holding her shoulder. They’re smiling. Laughing? Rivin frowns. Frustrated. Confused. They’d failed. Why were they laughing?

  Sen snickers, tuning up his voice. “The book was destroyed, she said. We’d almost died scavenging these few… useless pages, sir. Just enough. Just enough for you… How gracious. The old fool was just happy to hear she’d blown the place without painting it his colours.” He looks away, eyes darkened. “She said I'd give them an edge.” Quietly. Thinly. “I am never going back to that place.” He hisses. “Not for her. Not for anything. She can’t make me.”

  Rivin shakes his head. “She wouldn't—”

  “Then you don't know her well enough.” Sen's grip on the blade slips, and a clean slice brings beads of blood rising to the surface of his index finger. He doesn’t react, letting the wound bleed, watching its track down his palm. “Like I said. Too good a liar.”

  Don’t close your eyes. “Chess…” Rivin remembers, squeezing the back of his neck, “has more pieces than that.”

  “Yeah,” the blonde shrugs, lapping up the red. “But she’s the strongest.”

  “She’s…” Rivin looks over, watching her laugh, “Just a kid…”

  “You’re not so stupid.” Sen snorts. “She’s dangerous.”

  Don’t close your eyes. “Why hang off her then?” Rivin presses, tensing his jaw. “You’re always at her.”

  Sen only pauses, flicking his eyes up to the girl. "Keep them close, right?”

  Rivin can’t help it. He blinks.

  Blackness.

  Endless.

  It might as well be death.

  Again, the world has shifted. They’re home, in The Hole. He’s at a row of clothes; the others rushing about around him, filling packs and cases.

  “It’s like a right of passage,” Chip explains, sorting through his few books. Selecting two. “For the future, y’know. Your new direction. Your new name.”

  “I’ve had plenty o’ names,” Roach chimes, trying on a coat.

  “Is Roach what your mama named you?” queries Ricket, face cleaned.

  She doesn't look away from her reflection to answer, “She didn't name me anything. What'd your mama call you?”

  Ricket beams. “Josie! Josie Pike.”

  “Josie?”

  “So you see,” resumes Chip, “this is important.”

  She laughs, “Like Chip is any better.”

  “Yes, it is. It has meaning,” he replies, puffing out his chest, glancing at Rivin for a sheepish second. “Rivin changed my path.”

  “By punching you in the face?” The girl snorts.

  “Don't laugh! It’s a sacred memory!”

  She lifts a challenging brow. “Or your first mistake.”

  “Of a new life,” counters the blonde, grinning wide and chipped in the tooth. “A Chip for the Future.”

  “Lame,” Sen groans, fingering a Halidom leaflet.

  “Shut up! What kind of name is Sen, anyway?”

  Rivin looks away. Down. He’s holding something. A yellow gum-wrapper cat. Half of it stained with browned blood. It sits neatly in his palm, matching the golden stitch in his jacket.

  ‘Come find home when you’re ready, Grey. I’ll be waiting.’

  You were Irene then, he thinks, closing his fingers gently. Were you proud to die as Mouse?

  His heart twists.

  Did it matter in the end?

  “Ya bringing that?” Slink is beside him, solemn. “Chip didn’t understand why I kept it. I don't either, really.”

  Rivin remembers the necklace. He touches his pockets. It’s already there. He’s not sure when he’d picked it up again, but it’s there. “I understand.” He takes Slink’s hand, recalling hers, small and gloved, as it slipped beneath the tyre in Sector 8, and places the origami there. “You want to look back.”

  He gazes at the desk and piles, the bitter few items they couldn’t put away. Her cloak, a tawny brown. The hat with the feather—Rivin plucks it. Her one-eyed bear. Costumes. Makeup left messy. Slippers tucked beneath the cot.

  He inhales with a shudder, bites his lip. Blinks.

  Sunshine. A spot of it.

  Something shimmering in the sky.

  He runs toward it.

  A fire blazes between them, furniture and other nonessentials stacked into the flames, memories scorched to ash, but not, it seems, with any sadness.

  They'd been gifted ale from the Swill, and Rivin nurses a cup in his lap. There’s laughter. Chatter. Someone got the radio working, but it only plays a static backdrop, flickering. No one minds. Ricket drums a pot, and Roach dances around him. Of course, she dances.

  “Queen!” she cries, spinning, whipping her arms in the air. “Queen!”

  “You can’t just call yourself Queen!” Chip groans, turning away with a huff, cheeks flushed and patchy.

  “Drama Queen, more like,” hoots Slink.

  “I will concede to Drama Queen,” cheers the blonde, raising his glass.

  Roach only strikes her hands above her, harder and harder. “Queen! Queen!”

  He blinks.

  Darkness.

  He scrubs it away.

  There’s someone there.

  Sitting on a mountainside.

  Looking up.

  “Queen!”

  He sees her.

  “Queen!”

  Just the tip of her face, glowing in the light. Her lips are curled softly. Fondly.

  “Don’t dawdle, Ghost.” Roach takes his hand, pulling him through the doorway.

  “My head is pounding…” groans a green Slink, adjusting his heavy sack from one shoulder to the other.

  “Serves you right.” taunts Sen, brushing back his hair. “You were unsightly.”

  “Shaddup. You’re fucking unsightly. Little Scarface.”

  “Slink!” Ricket gasps, jerking his arm.

  “Shoot. Shit. Sorry, man. Low blow.”

  Sen only narrows his eyes. “As expected.”

  “Little shit.”

  “Slink!”

  Blink.

  He calls out.

  Light returns.

  “I think I’m stuck…” gasps Rivin, looking up. The bars are hot against his fingers, the wind gushing through his clothes and hair. Above him, Chip trembles beneath the others, eyes pinched shut. Below him, Roach shouts:

  “You’re moving fine, Riv! Keep going!”

  “I looked back.” He mutters, pressing his forehead to the scalding metal. He can’t feel anything. “I keep seeing—”

  He’s sprinting now.

  He can see his friends in the sky.

  He screams.

  There’s no sound.

  She pushes the observatory door, and it shifts open easily this time, no need for queer flowers or shove. Inside, the generator casts light on the wall of weapons: the ebony greatsword, a set of lithe blades. That awful couch, and the spiral staircase leading to space on a ceiling. She walks to the center, spins, flaring out her arms. Welcoming them.

  His heart is throbbing.

  They flood in, drop their things on the floor, still gushing about the ghostly army and vanishing sunlight. All exhausted, but grinning. Exhilarated. Tears are welling in his eyes. He doesn’t know why. Doesn’t know why.

  It hurts.

  He’s getting closer.

  Sprinting through burning lungs.

  They’re walking together. Just the two of them. An unfamiliar path down. Scorched walls. She casts a glance over her shoulder, smiling.

  “Finally ready, Ghost.”

  It’s happening too quickly. He’s blinking between realities. Losing himself. Seeing her, older, looking up from the dark, and then now, young and impatient. “C’mon.” She takes his hand, and he watches her fingers close around him. Looks up.

  Running.

  A blue hammer— an enormous knight swinging through a crowd of ghosts.

  Between space and present.

  She crouches down before a ruined temple, sorting through stacks of debris.

  He can’t catch his breath.

  He can see her so clearly now.

  Roach, with dirty cheeks.

  The Echo, on the ridge.

  Roach perking up, examining a rusted badge with six wings.

  The Echo, waiting.

  The closer he gets, the faster it shifts.

  Light.

  Dark.

  Light.

  Dark.

  He’s calling out in one.

  Mumbling in the other.

  But in both, he says the same.

  “Echo.”

  Dusty, she tilts her head.

  “Ghost?”

  Bleeding, she tips her cap.

  “Ghost.”

  Rivin smiles. Pained. Breathless. Torn. “Echo…” His chest is warm, pulsing hotter with every beat. His eyes glazed over in glimpses.

  “Your name…” he whispers, “For the future…”

  Roach furrows her brow, confused. "Echo...?”

  She looks back. Over her shoulder.

  “You’re the Echo.”

  He closes the distance.

  Her smile stretches. “Why?”

  “…Why?”

  He catches his breath. Holds her eyes. Golden, like sunshine. Offers his hand.

  She’s still waiting.

  He’s so close now.

  Why?

  And everything clears and comes into focus.

  “Because you'll carry…” He hesitates, “You’ll carry us through.”

  She doesn't move. Only blinks. Tilts her head. “That how echoes work?”

  He laughs. “This time, maybe.”

  She cracks a grin. “Nice. Good. I mean, I'm pretty fond of the whole Queen of Roaches thing, but…Yeah, Echo is also nice.”

  Rivin frowns. “I'm not going to force you,” he begins, rolling his eyes and retracting his hand before she grabs for it, digging her fingers in.

  “No, no—” she pleas, grasping on tightly. “I love it.”

  He stops, holding his breath, and helps her to her feet. “You do?”

  “I do.” She nods. Closer now. Face to face. “A lot.”

  He looks at her. Hard. Without the world blinking out of shape.

  Without darkness. Without future.

  Just here, just now.

  Where he holds her hand and she smiles, brightly.

  “Echo…” She says, trying it out, leaning forward.

  Rivin bridges the gap, pressing their foreheads together, closing his eyes.

  Blissful, and unafraid.

  Present.

  “Echo.”

  “I see you there. Watching.”

  I step forward. Finally. Ashamed.

  She glances over, unbothered, before patting the space next to her. It's not burned yet. Not bloodied, though droplets slip free from her sleeve. “You shy?” She asks.

  I feel my lips twitch. “A little.”

  “That’s okay.” She says, facing forward. “Stay if you like. I don't mind. I love company.”

  I drift closer. “Do you?”

  She nods, shirking her jacket higher. “For sure.” When she grins wide, it dimples each cheek. “’cides,” she continues, looking up, “someone should see.”

  I shrink, perch myself beside her.

  The ground is soft.

  The grass is green.

  Life, it seems, lives on.

  And so, my gaze returns to golden eyes, watching her watch them.

  The moving pictures of her life.

  The moments all leading up to the last.

  To this moment.

  To here, on the mountainside.

  “See what?” I ask her, eventually. Quietly.

  There's blood in her teeth now, streaming down either side, and she leans back, holding her front, short of breath.

  Never once, not once, looking away from the faces spinning above them.

  The memories of—

  “How much I loved them.” A tear streaks her smile. “Let there be evidence, huh?”

  I look away, back at the lifetime replaying, the bitter world bursting and alive through her eyes, and say nothing.

  For there's nothing more to be said.

  Nothing more to be done.

  Other than to take her hand in the darkness,

  And to watch,

  and to listen,

  and to stay.

  Until her ending.

  Volume I — This is How We Become Ghosts Fin.