Vievel glanced around again. He was alone. Good. Turning on his light, even for a moment, was a risk he probably shouldn’t have taken, but Vievel was thankful to be able to see again. Behind him the red rusted passage stretched infinitely, the ward continuing long past where he could see, but nearby stood charcoal-black smooth floors and walls, the same that decorated most of the Dwurkn frigate; without so much as the slightest imperfection they stood in stark contrast to the raw and coarse surfaces of the red ward. Vievel smiled, allowing himself a short-lived moment to enjoy the light. He found his spirits lifted to be at least part way home; the etchings in front of him were a landmark he could use to navigate the rest of the way. Vievel oriented himself in the direction that he and Halycen had arrived from and twisted his flashlight, shutting it off once more regretfully. With a careful hand on the wall to follow the markings, Vievel began the second stage of his journey home.

Walking in the darkness a second time brought little of the apprehension that it had the first time. His hand still curled around the torch, ready to turn it back on at a moment’s notice, but the gloom had begun to cultivate a familiar quality. He followed the wall without hesitation until eventually it broke and gave way to an intersection; one of the many that honeycombed the central corridor. Vievel had been expecting it since he’d started walking, and strode confidently across the gap until he felt the parallel wall. As he continued he began to get a sense of the etchings, his fingers tracing the pattern as it repeated. The Dwurka runes were orderly and consistent, but that was not at all reassuring. As Vievel began to picture the etchings in his head he realised they were different to the ones that he had studied on his trip into the ship. Sighing, Vievel turned on his flashlight again, averting his eyes as to not be blinded by it. As he looked at the etchings he realised he was correct. They were different - somehow he’d ended up in a different corridor.

The light in front of him flickered, dimming suddenly then brightening again. Vievel glanced down at his hand and spotted a slender crack in the flashlight’s casing.

This one’s damaged too. Was it going to die before he needed it again? Vievel turned quickly and walked over to the opposite wall, studying the etchings whilst he could. They were different too, but closer to the ones he remembered. Perhaps they change gradually he thought. Deciding to follow the opposite markings Vievel twisted the neck of his torch again, dousing the light. He walked straight for a time, crossing over several intersections whenever the wall fell away, following the etchings for as long as he travelled. The pattern beneath his fingers began to shift and change, but it seemed just as unfamiliar.

His flashlight clasped in his hand, Vievel decided to risk turning it on a third time. The light snaked its way around him and dazzled him, striking his eyes even though he had looked away as before. He grimaced and blinked repeatedly as his vision slowly returned, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and then opening them to a reflection of him, light in hand, staring back.

The hatch. The metal door shone brilliantly in the glare, reflecting a mirror image of the young Aelfr; the likeness of his narrow shoulders and slight paunch briefly disheartened him until it was replaced by the dawning realisation that he’d completed the second leg of his journey. He was going to do it! The Advance couldn’t have possibly found the war company and returned home by now; Vievel was confident he’d make it to the home ship before anyone noticed him missing.

He gripped the nearest hatch handle firmly and pulled, expecting the door to open quickly. When it didn’t he glanced at the other two handles and noticed one was still in the locked position.

Did Halycen latch it? Vievel couldn’t recall seeing his cousin close the hatch, yet she obviously had. He swiftly unlocked the remaining handle and pulled it free, wincing as the small door creaked and shuddered at his demand. Sucking in his stomach Vievel slid past the hatch door and squeezed himself into the cramped passage behind. His shoulders pressed up against both the walls simultaneously; try as he might to inhale and force himself into a smaller space, he still found himself uncomfortably wedged. Vievel wrenched his shoulders forward, working his way past the passage opening and into the tunnel, which thankfully drew broader as he shuffled into it.

The dark gave way to his flashlight as he twisted its activation switch, no longer frightened that anything might be lurking close by enough to witness it. The intersection lay ahead of him, still some distance away but close enough that VIevel’s light lit it up; in the distance the corner of the wall stood out sharp and pointed, the gloom swallowing any light that made it further. It beckoned him forward, and he felt a slight smile break out on his face. Soon he’d be home. The thought lifting his spirits, and free of the tightness at the hatch opening, Vievel broke into a jog. Before long he rounded the intersection corner and stopped, staring ahead of him.

After the intersection the passage became long and crooked, weaving gently as it stretched onward. A slight breeze was blowing; the air gently caressed his face and wrapped itself around his ankles. Glancing at his feet Vievel noticed a thin mesh vent running the length of the tunnel, from which the air was both originating and being drawn back into. As he looked down Vievel felt the faintest unease, as if he’d stumbled into a drawing in which a single thing had been changed, making it not at all the same as before; he didn’t remember the mesh vents. As he stared at them the worry grew, and he began to notice different things about the passage that seemed wrong somehow. The stone of the walls was chipped, not at all as smooth as he remembered. The tunnel meandered so sharply that he couldn’t make out the end of it, whereas he had been sure the original had been a straight walk. He then sniffed the air, realising that something about the passage smelled amiss as well. A faint smell of fuel permeated the softly-flowing draft in the vent, an unfamiliar odour. Doubt began to coalesce in Vievel’s gut, forming a solid rock of concern. He dropped his knapsack down, the contents of the bag rattling and clanking together as it struck the floor, and drew open its drawstring; fishing around inside the bag for a moment he retrieved his fibreweave cloth, still reeking of the smell from the red ward. He didn’t even have to bring the cloth to his nose before he recoiled from it.

Burnt, charred, meat. Vievel moved the cloth away from his nose and smelt the stone maintenance passage again. Fuel, and only a faint smell of it at that. He brought the cloth back to his nose, and then pulled it away again - only the cloth held the burnt smell. The air here was free of it. The original tunnel had stunk of the same smell that had hung on the air of the red ward, and that now permeated his cloth. He kept the cloth in hand but drew the bag’s drawstring shut, his thumb rubbing anxiously against his forefinger as he did. Was he in the wrong passage, a different maintenance passage? Shaking his head Vievel tried to reassure himself, speaking aloud.

“The smell is just gone, that’s all. Smells can move-”

It had to be the same, he couldn’t be lost-

“Hey,” an unseen voice called out. “Someone there?”