---
"No turning back now."
Vey said.
His voice breaking the quiet.
The air in the underground chamber was thick—too still to feel natural.
Vey stood a step ahead of them,
facing the elder at the center of the room.
Jake glanced sideways at him, a flicker of irritation crossing his face.
Sally didn't look at Vey at all. Her eyes stayed forward, steady, bracing.
Across from them, the elder watched—arms folded,
face carved from years of hard decisions.
He spoke,
"You came here looking for answers," his voice was deep, gravel threaded through every word. "You'll get them. But be sure—you're ready to carry what you find."
Jake shifted his weight but didn't answer.
King stepped forward.
"We wouldn't have come if we weren't ready."
The elder unfolded his arms slowly, pushing himself up from his seat. His presence filled the space—
"You three," he said.
"you walk into forgotten ground. You understand what that means?"
"We know the risk."
King replied.
"Risk," the elder repeated.
"Risk is losing a bet. Risk is getting caught stealing bread."
A beat.
"This is not risk," he said, low.
"This is choosing to pull at the root of a city that would rather strangle itself than loosen its grip."
King met the elder's gaze without blinking.
"Then, maybe..."
"it's time someone did."
---
The elder studied him for a long moment—then,
he let out a slow, dry breath, almost like a laugh.
"You have sharp words, child. I will give you that," he said.
"But sharpness alone by itself, cuts the hand that holds it."
The elder's gaze moved from King to Sally.
He tilted his head slightly, like weighing something unseen.
Then he spoke, voice quieter but no less heavy.
"You... child."
"Tell me. Why do you want to see so bad... what lies below?"
Sally stood thinking for a moment.
A long moment stretched between them.
But,
no answer came to her in that moment.
Because the truth was—
she didn't have any real answer to that question.
Not one that explained the knot in her chest that needed to know what was hidden.
She swallowed lightly and held his gaze.
Silent.
The elder studied her—his face unreadable.
Then, after a moment, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Like silence, somehow, was the answer he expected.
The elder looked to jake, standing beside sally.
He stepped—slow, deliberate—and moved toward Jake.
Closer.
Until he stood eye to eye with him, their breath almost touching in the cold air.
Jake didn't flinch.
But he didn't smile, either.
The elder studied him in silence for a long, grinding moment.
Then he spoke, voice low enough that only Jake—
and maybe King and Sally—could hear.
"You, my boy."
"talk as though you want to find the cracks."
His eyes narrowed.
"But cracks are easy to see. Easy to point at."
The elder leaned in slightly, voice almost a growl.
"What will you do when you find yourself standing on the broken pieces?"
Jake didn't answer immediately.
The elder pressed further, voice tightening.
"When your own choices break something you love—what then?"
A beat.
"Will you regret then?
"Regret looking for the truth?"
Jake's jaw tightened.
He thought about the others—
about Finn, Aurora, John, Harry.
About standing between them and the weight of a city trying to erase them.
He thought about the people who already had no one left standing for them.
He thought about how easy it would be to walk away.
And how much harder it was to stay.
He met the elder's gaze without blinking.
And simply, he replied:
"Be that as it may,"
"..I still won't pretend not to see something... that's already broken. "
"Cause pretending to not see won't fix it."
---
For a long moment,
after Jake's words faded, there was only the sound of the old air shifting around them.
Then—
The elder smiled.
It wasn't a big smile. Not easy. Not polished.
But it was real.
He reached out and clapped Jake's shoulder once—
firm, solid.
"Good," he said. His voice softened, just a little.
"You'll need that stubbornness before this is done."
Jake let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, relaxing just slightly under the weight of the elder's hand.
The elder turned to Sally and King, his gaze warmer now.
"You guys too," he said, nodding to both.
"You came down here with open eyes. And, that alone matters a lot."
Sally straightened a little, accepting the quiet approval without a word.
King simply gave a small bow of his head in return.
The elder stepped back, motioning toward the table,
with a rough circle of mismatched chairs and low benches scattered around it.
"You must be tired from all the walking," he said, a dry humor threading his voice.
"Come. Sit with us."
---
The elder moved toward the benches,
settling onto a creaky chair like a boulder sinking into familiar earth.
The woman with the short gray hair and a scar had been standing silently nearby moved as well—
leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed.
Vey, of course, had already picked a spot. He perched easily on the edge of a broken column like he'd been there all along.
Jake, Sally, and King exchanged a brief look.
Then they followed, slipping into seats,
the tension of the last hour finally—just slightly—loosening from their shoulders.
---
The old chair creaked as the elder leaned back,
resting his hands loosely over his knees.
One of the younger rebels—a wiry boy with a permanent squint—
brought a battered kettle and a handful of mismatched clay cups to the low table between them.
Steam rose gently in the cold air.
The elder poured without ceremony, filling cups halfway and sliding them toward Sally, Jake, and King.
Sally wrapped her hands around her cup, letting the heat seep into her fingers.
King sipped without a word.
Jake however,
lifted his cup,
and sniffed it suspiciously.
The elder smirked faintly.
"Don't worry. It's just tea, my child."
Jake looked a little embarrassed,
and took a cautious sip.
It was strong, slightly bitter,
but warm.
The scarred woman—settled onto a stool nearby, her arms resting on her knees, posture easy but alert.
For a time, none of them spoke.
Only the quiet creak of wood and the soft drip of water somewhere deeper in the tunnels filled the space.
Then, finally,
the elder broke the silence.
"So, little ones... tell me."
"What's your story?"
His voice was almost amused—gravelly but warm, like someone asking more out of habit than expectation.
Jake snorted lightly into his mug. "Long one."
The elder raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"We've got time."
King spoke first, as simply as always.
"Let's just say," he said,
"we came from elsewhere. Got mistaken for someone else.
And now... tangled into whatever this is."
"Elsewhere, huh." the elder echoed, smiling as he rolled the word around.
"That covers a lot of ground."
He leaned back slightly, eyeing them.
"Well, now that you're here," he said,
"I suppose you're involved."
"But..." he added, voice dipping lower, "tangled isn't the word I'd use."
A beat.
"I'd say you're more chained than entangled."
Jake lifted his mug in a mock toast.
"Yup. Sounds about right."
The scarred woman spoke up then, her voice dry, almost teasing.
"No offense," she said, "but you kids don't look like regular ol' revolutionaries to me."
Jake grinned sideways.
"Why? Don't got enough scars yet?"
The woman snorted.
"Nope. Just not big enough to carry the weight."
Jake shrugged, unbothered.
"Didn't know there was an age limit."
The elder chuckled at that—a sound like gravel rolling in a dry riverbed.
---
Sally leaned forward a little.
"So, how long have you guys been here. Beneath the city?" she asked.
The elder exchanged a glance with the scarred woman.
"Let's just say, it's been a long time,"
"Longer than most would believe."
The woman snorted softly.
"Long enough that we saw the city forget. Forgot we were ever even part of it in the first place."
King who had been looking around the base,tilted his head.
"Did you built all of this?" he asked.
"No, we found it.
Same as you're finding it now."
The woman added,
"But we kept it alive. Brick by stolen brick."
Sally looked around at the worn walls, the faint glowstones embedded into the ceiling, the patched furniture.
It wasn't grandeur.
It was only meant for survival.
Quiet. Defiant.
Jake lowered his mug, curiosity slipping through his usual smirk.
"You ever think about... leaving the city ever? Going somewhere else?"
The elder smiled, but there was no humor to it.
"And go where?"
He tapped a calloused finger against his mug.
"This is our fight. It's always been our fight."
There was no bitterness in the words. No grandstanding.
Just... a simple, immovable truth.
They sipped quietly for a while.
The scarred woman broke the silence after a few minutes,
eyeing the newcomers with a faint, assessing look.
"What about you three?" she asked.
"You planning to stick your heads down and stay out of it?"
Jake shrugged. "Nah, couldn't do it even if we tried to."
Sally smiled faintly.
King gave a small shrug.
---
The elder finished the last of his tea, setting the empty mug on the rough-hewn table with a soft clink.
He leaned back in his chair, studying them for a long, quiet moment.
Then he turned toward the scarred woman, his voice low but clear.
"Kaela," he said.
"Why don't you show them around?"
The woman—Kaela—pushed off the stool, cracking her knuckles as she stood.
She gave a short nod, almost a salute.
"About time," she said under her breath,
before jerking her chin toward the corridor leading deeper into the underground.
"Come on. Let's see if you can keep up."
Jake stood, stretching out his arms.
"I'll try not to trip over any ancient rebel secrets."
Sally rolled her eyes but smiled as she rose too, brushing the dust from her coat.
King followed silently, the ever-present calm in his movements.
As they started toward the passage,
Vey slipped easily into step beside them—silent as a shadow.
Jake threw him a sideways glance.
"You coming too, mystery boy?"
Vey smiled that familiar, unreadable smile.
"Wouldn't miss it."
Sally muttered just loud enough for him to hear:
"This is going to be so annoying."
Vey chuckled softly, the sound echoing off the stone.
Kaela led the way ahead, torch in hand,
her figure cutting a clean, steady path through the dim corridor.
The group followed—
footsteps muffled by old dust, walls pressing closer as the tunnel narrowed—
and behind them, the chamber faded into shadow once again.
Whatever waited ahead was older than memory.
And they were about to walk right into its heart.
---
The air grew colder the farther they went.
Not the sharp, biting cold of winter—but something deeper.
The kind that seeped into your body without asking permission.
Kaela led with confident steps, the torch in her hand casting long, swaying shadows across the rough stone walls.
The flame flickered against faint, faded carvings—marks almost erased by time.
Sally's hand brushed lightly against the wall as she walked, tracing the outline of something she couldn't quite make out.
Figures.
Symbols.
A language not written for the surface world.
Jake kept close behind, sharp-eyed, boots crunching lightly against loose stone.
"These tunnels," Sally whispered after a while,
"they weren't built recently."
Kaela glanced back over her shoulder, her face lit in flickers.
"No," she said simply.
"They were old before Vash'Kael ever laid its first stone."
Vey walked a few paces behind them, humming something tuneless under his breath.
King remained silent, absorbing every detail—
the walls, the turns, the faint shudder that sometimes ran beneath their feet like a breath trapped in earth.
Jake frowned, stepping carefully over a cracked section of floor.
"Feels like we're walking through somebody else's bones."
Kaela gave a dry chuckle.
"Not wrong."
They turned another corner.
Here, the ceiling rose higher, forming a vault overhead.
Mismatched stones jutted out like broken teeth. More carvings lined the walls—
deeper here, stronger. Some half-sunk into the floor,
like whatever was above had tried to push them down, to smother them.
Sally slowed,
her fingers tracing a spiral symbol cut deep into the stone.
"...It's beautiful," she murmured.
Jake grunted. "Yeah, in a creepy, someone's-watching-us kind of way."
Vey laughed softly under his breath.
"Maybe they are."
Kaela didn't comment.
She just kept walking.
The path sloped downward now, subtly at first—barely noticeable until their steps grew heavier,
their breaths a little shorter.
The tunnels widened.
Then narrowed again.
As though veins winding deeper into something living.
Old roots hung from the ceilings in places, twisted into brittle claws.
Water dripped from unseen cracks, the sound like distant heartbeats.
No wind.
No animals.
No life.
Just stone.
And silence.
---
(The Buried Heart)
The tunnel sloped sharper now.
Sally stumbled once, catching herself against the wall.
Jake reached out instinctively, steadying her before they both moved on without a word.
Kaela lifted the torch higher, the flame throwing wild shapes across the stone.
Ahead—
the air shifted.
Subtly.
Like stepping through an unseen curtain.
And then the walls fell away.
Jake slowed first,
then Sally, then King—
all of them blinking against the sudden openness.
The tunnel had led them out onto a wide, crumbling ledge.
Below them—
An entire world stretched in the darkness.
Buildings, half-swallowed by earth and time, leaned at strange angles.
Broken towers stabbed upward like the bones of some ancient giant.
Streets—twisted, cracked, overgrown with thin roots and rubble—wound between them like veins.
Here and there, the faint gleam of abandoned metal caught the torchlight—rusted gates, shattered statues, things too buried to name.
A cold breeze rose from somewhere below, stirring the dust at their feet.
It smelled faintly of ash and stone.
Sally stepped to the edge carefully, peering down.
"...This," she whispered, voice small against the vastness,
"this was a city."
Kaela came up beside her.
"This," she said, voice low and rough,
"was the city."
Jake stared, the usual humor drained from his face.
"You mean before Vash'Kael?"
Kaela nodded once.
"The heart of the city," she said.
Her voice was quiet. Almost reverent.
"Before it was buried."
"Before the walls. Before the governors. Before the chains."
King stood silent.
His gaze swept the ruins with quiet, steady focus.
Sally turned toward Kaela, heart thudding against her ribs.
"Why bury it?"
Kaela's mouth pulled into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"They didn't bury it, sally." she said.
"They built over it."
The torch flickered, throwing wild, reaching shadows over the lost streets below.
Vey stepped up behind them, hands tucked into his sleeves.
"History," he said lightly,
"is always a little messier than the stories."
Jake muttered under his breath,
"Yeah. Figures."
They stood there a moment longer—on the edge of something ancient and broken and still somehow breathing under the weight of centuries.
And the city, patient and forgotten, seemed to watch them back.
King's voice was low.
"You think you can unbury it?"
Kaela turned slightly, her scarred face lit gold by the torch.
"I don't think," she said.
"I know."
---
(Above ground)
The sunlight felt sharper when they finally broke through the alleys.
Finn squinted,
shielding his eyes with one hand as they emerged onto the edge of the market district—
or what was left of it.
Aurora stumbled to a halt beside him, clutching the satchel tighter against her side.
Behind them, the tangled maze of alleys stretched, empty and silent.
No sign of Moss.
Not for the last several streets.
The split had happened fast—in the chaos of shouts, scattering crowds, the clash of guards moving in.
Moss had pulled them aside, his voice was low and fierce:
"Keep it safe."
"Trust you to do it. I'll find you."
And then he'd been gone—
vanished into the noise like he'd never been there.
Now, aboveground, the market looked wrong.
The colors were still there—bright cloths, hanging spices, rows of stalls—
But something in the air was tighter.
Sharper.
More guards.
Patrolling in pairs, crossing the open spaces like stitched threads pulling the market tighter and tighter.
Vendors kept their voices low.
Conversations died when the guards passed.
A tension hung like invisible wires between every step.
Aurora exhaled slowly, adjusting her grip on the satchel.
"They were willing to chase us for this," she murmured.
Finn flashed her a crooked grin,
trying to cut the tension.
"Well, yeah. We're great company."
Finn and Aurora wove through the narrowing streets,
keeping to the edges where the guards' gazes were thinner.
They passed a row of shuttered stalls.
Some vendors still lingered—hunched over their wares, pretending nothing had changed.
As they moved past a table stacked with dried herbs and tattered books,
a hand shot out, catching Aurora lightly by the sleeve.
She tensed—
but the grip wasn't hard. Just urgent.
An old vendor, his face lined like cracked stone, leaned in.
His voice was barely a whisper.
"You shouldn't be walking so openly today," he rasped.
Aurora's eyes sharpened instantly.
"Why?" she asked, her voice low.
The man glanced left, then right, like the shadows themselves might be listening.
Then he leaned closer.
"He's moving his pieces,"
Finn frowned.
"Who?"
The vendor's mouth twisted into something halfway between a grimace and a smile.
He didn't say the name.
Just nodded once—sharp, certain—
toward the tall silhouette of the governor's estate rising over the rooftops.
Aurora's grip tightened on the satchel.
"The governor?"
she muttered under her breath.
The old man released her sleeve, shrinking back behind his stall as a patrol passed nearby.
No more words.
No more warnings.
Just the air thick with things unsaid.
Her eyes swept the square again.
"The place feels different somehow,"
she said under her breath.
Finn followed her gaze—
saw a merchant hurriedly pulling down his stall's canopy.
Saw a mother tug her child closer as two guards passed.
"Something's happening,"
Aurora nodded, jaw tight.
"We need to find the others. Fast."
Without waiting for more, they slipped back into the thinner side streets—
two figures swallowed by the shifting city,
carrying a secret the surface was just beginning to feel.
---
(In the Archives)
Harry sat hunched over a cracked wooden desk, a thick tome spread open before him.
Pages old enough to crumble at the corners.
Ink faded to brown whispers.
Beside him, his shadow-familiar — little more than a shifting blot of darkness — perched lazily on the edge of the table, tail flicking now and then like it was trying to read along.
Harry scratched absentmindedly behind one of its nonexistent ears,
and flipping a page with his other hand.
Charts.
Lines.
Old notes.
Ley lines mapped in careful, trembling strokes—
crisscrossing Vash'Kael like veins beneath skin.
He flipped to the next page—
—and froze.
Hidden ink.
Moving.
Letters swimming faintly across the parchment, shifting shapes like they didn't want to be understood by just anyone.
Harry sighed, slumping back into his chair.
"Oh, great. Haunted paperwork."
He rubbed his eyes.
"Should've figured."
"You seem quite interested in those books."
The voice came from behind him.
Harry didn't jump.
But the shadow-familiar arched its back, rippling like black smoke.
He turned casually.
A woman stood a few paces away, half-swallowed by the dim stacks.
Cloaked, but not like a guard—more like someone who belonged here too much to be noticed.
Her face was unreadable. Her eyes sharp.
Harry leaned back lazily in his chair.
"It's a library," he said. "That's kind of the point, isn't it?"
The woman tilted her head slightly, almost smiling.
"But, you see. Some books..." she said softly,
"...can bring dangerous consequences."
Harry shrugged, half smiling.
"Then it's a good thing I like dangerous things."
The shadow-familiar curled tighter around the edge of the desk, watching the woman in silence.
She stepped closer, her boots silent against the ancient stone.
And, glanced down at the open book on Harry's table—
then back at him.
Her voice stayed calm. Almost kind.
"Curiosity is a powerful thing,"
"But sometimes... it's better to leave certain doors shut."
Harry tapped the page lightly with one finger.
"Maybe."
He leaned forward, his grin easy but his eyes sharper now.
"And yet, here you are.
Opening them for me."
The woman's mouth quirked into something halfway between a smirk and a warning.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The weight of unasked questions settled between them—
thick as the dust hanging in the still air.
Then she said, almost lightly:
"Perhaps."
And just like that, she turned—
And walked back.
Disappearing in the endless array of shelves and parchment.
Harry watched the empty aisle for a beat longer.
Then exhaled, slow.
"Right."
"Totally normal library behavior."
The shadow-familiar snorted quietly—somehow—and thudded back down onto the desk, flopping across the open book.
Harry rolled his eyes and flipped another page.
The moving ink twisted again—
forming something new.
A map.
A diagram.
And a single word scrawled in faint, shifting script:
Laid out,
again.
"Vey."
Harry stared at it for a long moment.
"Yeah," he muttered.
"Definitely normal."
And kept reading.
---
The chamber was colder now.
Thick stone walls swallowed the light,
leaving only thin bands of gold stretching across the map table at the center.
The Governor stood before it, one hand resting lightly on the carved model of Vash'Kael.
Tiny pieces dotted the city's layout—
guards, markets, gates, Lower Quarter.
At his side, an attendant—
young, sharp-eyed, barely hiding the tremble in her hands—
hurried forward.
"Sir," she said, breathless,
"there's been movement.
More than anticipated. The lower districts are stirring—rebels, sympathizers—something's happening underground."
She swallowed hard.
"Reports from the archives too. Unauthorized activity. And the market's... different today. The people are tense. Guards can't keep full control."
The Governor didn't move.
The attendant pressed on, words tumbling faster.
"Sir, they're pushing faster than we thought. If we don't act soon—if we wait too long—they could—"
A hand.
Not raised sharply.
Just lifted slightly.
Enough to stop the cascade of panic.
The Governor's eyes never left the map.
His voice, when it came,
was almost gentle.
"Good."
The attendant blinked, confused.
Frozen.
The Governor finally turned his head, studying the young woman like one might study a clock slowly ticking down.
A beat.
Then, with the faintest hint of a smile:
He spoke.
"It's all coming together."
The candle beside them guttered, throwing the pieces across the map into long, stretched shadows.
The Governor turned back to the board.
He nudged a small, unmarked black piece forward.
Just one step.
Toward a cluster labeled
"Lower Quarter."
And as the piece clicked into place,
he murmured—
"Soon."
---
John sat on the rooftops again,
legs dangling over the side, the evening air brushing against his face.
Vash'Kael stretched out before him—
a patchwork of light and shadow, whispers and secrets.
Nyx dropped down beside him with a soft thud, arms resting lazily on her knees.
She tilted her head toward him,
"Thinking about your friends again?"
John smiled faintly.
"You can tell?"
Nyx smirked.
"Kinda hard to miss. You get this... faraway look. Like you're still halfway wherever they are."
John chuckled under his breath.
"Must be exhausting," she teased, bumping her shoulder lightly against his.
"Being the responsible one all the time."
"You have no idea," John said, laughing quietly.
Nyx leaned back on her hands, staring up at the faint red sky.
"You know..." she said after a moment,
"you could just stay here."
John turned his head,
There was no pressure in her voice.
No joke either.
Just the simple, impossible offer of another life.
For a brief moment—john thinks about it.
Just staying.
Just being.
Then he smiled—soft, genuine—but shook his head.
"Nah," he said.
"They'd never let me."
Nyx watches him for a long moment.
Then—she snorted.
"Yeah. I figured."
John looks out over the city again.
He likes it here.
But the weight of everything waiting aboveground hasn't left him.
---
[TO BE CONTINUED IN VOL 5]