# Chapter 83: The Somnus Cartel
The silence in the room was a physical weight, pressing down on them long after Gideon's boot had crushed the slate. Each shard of obsidian was a tiny, black mirror reflecting their desperate faces. They were blind. Alone. And somewhere in the heights of his Spire, Moros was smiling.
Konto broke the stillness, his voice a low, gravelly hum that cut through the shock. "This place is burned. We have five minutes, maybe ten, before a Warden patrol is 'conveniently' rerouted this way." He began moving, his actions economical and precise, a man shedding a skin. He pocketed the Warden's knife, grabbed a half-full canteen from the table, and scanned the room for anything else that couldn't be left behind. There was nothing. They had arrived with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the terror in their hearts.
Liraya's mind, honed by years of tactical analysis, snapped back into focus. The grief was still there, a cold knot in her gut, but it was now fuel. "He'll be expecting us to run. To hide in the Undercity like rats."
"He's right," Gideon rumbled, already checking the action on a heavy-caliber pistol he'd retrieved from a hidden holster. "That's what I would do. It's what anyone would do."
"Which is why we won't," Konto said, his gaze fixed on Liraya. A spark of understanding passed between them. They were thinking the same thing. If every conventional path was a trap, they had to find an unconventional one. An insane one. "We need information that isn't on any network. We need a ghost."
He turned his head slightly, toward Elara, who stood by the door, her form shimmering faintly at the edges of his perception. "The Night Market," he said, the words tasting like ash and memory. "It's been years, but it's the only place in Aethelburg that isn't truly *in* Aethelburg. The Cartel operates there. They deal in things Moros can't regulate. Dreams. Memories. Secrets."
Liraya's eyes widened. "The Somnus Cartel? Konto, that's suicide. They're predators. They'll see us coming, smell our desperation, and bleed us dry for a scrap of intel."
"Maybe," he conceded, a grim smile touching his lips. "But right now, desperation is the only currency we have. Moros controls the city's infrastructure, but he doesn't control the chaos. The Cartel traffics in it. If anyone knows about a living nightmare like the Somnambulist, it's them." He looked from Liraya to Gideon. "We need a guide. Someone who knows the Market's shifting paths. We need to get to the Uncharted Wilds, but first, we need a map that isn't made of ink."
The plan was madness, but it was the only one they had. Gideon grunted his assent, the pragmatist accepting the lack of better options. "The old shrine… it's a long shot. A legend. But it's better than waiting here for the headsman's axe."
"Elara," Konto said softly. "Can you lead us out? The old ways, through the steam tunnels and the forgotten sub-levels. The ways the Wardens don't patrol."
Her spectral form seemed to solidify, her resolve a palpable wave of cold energy. She gave a single, sharp nod. The journey would begin not with a bang, but with a whisper.
They moved as a single unit. Gideon took point, his bulk a silent threat in the narrow corridor. Liraya followed, her mage-sight flaring, weaving a minor illusion of dampness and decay around them, a psychic camouflage that would make them seem like nothing more than a routine pipe-burst to any casual observer. Konto brought up the rear, his Dreamsight sweeping the area behind them, a rear-guard watching for the enemy that was surely coming. Elara floated ahead, a will-o'-the-wisp in the oppressive darkness, her presence a chilling guide through the guts of the city.
The air grew thick and wet, the scent of rust and stagnant water filling their lungs. The rhythmic thrum of the city's lifeblood—the ley lines, the mag-trains, the millions of sleeping minds—was a distant, muffled heartbeat. Here, in the forgotten veins of Aethelburg, they were ghosts themselves. For an hour, they climbed down service ladders and waded through ankle-deep grime, their only light the faint, ethereal glow of Elara's form and the soft luminescence of the Aspect tattoos on Liraya's hands.
Finally, they reached a circular blast door, ancient and covered in warnings that had been scoured away by time. Elara paused, her hand hovering over the rusted metal. "Through here," her voice echoed in their minds, a whisper of wind chimes. "Be ready. The Market does not welcome the sun."
Gideon forced the mechanism with a grunt of straining effort and a surge of earth-aspected energy that groaned the ancient hinges open. A wave of air hit them, a sensory overload that was the polar opposite of the sterile tunnels. It was the scent of spiced incense, sizzling synth-meat, ozone from illicit tech, and the cloying sweetness of dream-essence. The sound was a cacophony of haggling voices, pulsing music, and the sizzle of unknown things frying in oil. And the light… it was a riot of impossible color, neon signs in forgotten languages flickering next to stalls illuminated by floating, bioluminescent fungi.
They stepped out of the darkness and into the Night Market.
It was a sprawling, chaotic labyrinth that defied logic and physics. Tents made of stitched-together holographic projections stood next to stalls carved from the living bone of some leviathan. The ground was a patchwork of grime-slicked cobblestones and glowing, pulsating moss. Above them, the 'ceiling' was the underside of the city's upper plate, a web of pipes and conduits from which dangled lanterns made of captured lightning and cages filled with chirping, crystalline insects.
Konto felt a knot of tension in his shoulders he hadn't realized he was carrying begin to loosen. This was his element. Not the gilded cages of the Spire or the rigid order of the Wardens, but this beautiful, dangerous, free-flowing chaos. He pulled up the hood of his jacket, his face falling into shadow. "Stay close," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the din. "Don't meet anyone's eyes. And don't buy anything, no matter how good the deal."
Liraya, a creature of order and light, looked utterly out of place. Her fine clothes, already stained and torn from their journey, were a beacon of wealth in a sea of scavengers. She instinctively drew closer to Konto, her hand brushing against his arm. He felt the faint, controlled thrum of her power as she wove a more complex psychic veil around them—a subtle suggestion that they were not to be noticed, that they were merely part of the background noise. It was a difficult spell to maintain under the constant psychic pressure of the Market, but she held it, her jaw tight with concentration.
Gideon was in his element, too, but a different one. His hand never strayed far from his pistol, his eyes constantly scanning the crowds for threats. He was a rock of grim pragmatism in a sea of fluid chaos. Elara, for her part, seemed almost to relax, her form becoming more distinct as she drifted through the throngs, a curious observer in a place that was neither fully awake nor fully asleep.
They navigated the bazaar, a river of humanity flowing around them. Konto's gaze swept over the stalls, searching for a sign, a symbol he recognized from his old life. He saw a vendor selling bottled emotions—tiny vials of pure joy, simmering anger, or crystalline sorrow. He passed a tent where a hulking Ogryn was having his fortune told by a precog with three eyes, all of them weeping a thick, black fluid. He ignored the whispers from shadowed corners offering "pure Aspect" and "guaranteed escapes."
They were looking for the Somnus Cartel, but the Cartel didn't have a storefront. You didn't find them; they found you. The trick was to look like you were worth finding. Konto slowed their pace, stopping at a stall that sold roasted grubs on a stick. He bought three, handing one to Gideon and one to Liraya, who eyed it with profound disgust. The act was a performance. A signal that they were here to conduct business.
That's when he felt it. A gentle, probing touch against his mind. Not an attack, but a query. A soft, velvet-gloved psychic hand rifling through his surface thoughts. He didn't resist. He let it see what he wanted it to see: a man on the run, desperate, looking for something powerful and forbidden. He let it taste the fear and the resolve.
A moment later, a man detached himself from the shadows of a nearby alley and melted into the flow of the crowd beside them. He was unassuming, dressed in simple grey robes, his face bland and forgettable. But his eyes… his eyes were ancient and sharp, the color of a twilight sky, and they seemed to see straight through Konto's psychic veil, through the hood, and into the very core of his being.
"You're a long way from the Spire, little mage," the man said, his voice a smooth, silken purr directed at Liraya. He then turned his gaze to Konto, and a flicker of recognition crossed his features. "And you… you're a ghost. I heard you fell into a deep sleep a few years back. A shame. Your reputation was so… profitable."
Konto's hand tightened on the food stick, the gristly meat forgotten. "Silas," he said, the name a low growl. He remembered this man. A broker who dealt in the highest-stakes secrets, a spider at the center of the Night Market's web.
"The one and only," Silas bowed slightly, a gesture that was both mocking and genuine. "I see you've brought friends. A disgraced Templar and a nobleman's daughter playing rebel. How quaint." He ignored Elara completely, which told Konto more than anything else could. Silas either couldn't see her, or he was smart enough not to acknowledge a psychic projection of that power. "You're looking for something. Something that scares the Arch-Mage. That's a very specific and very valuable kind of fear."
"We're looking for information," Liraya said, stepping forward, her chin held high. "And we're willing to pay."
Silas laughed, a soft, dry sound like leaves skittering across pavement. "Pay? My dear girl, you have nothing I want. Your family's credit is frozen. your influence is gone. All you have is a secret, and that secret is already burning a hole in the city's security network." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was somehow louder than the market's roar. "But you… Konto. You have a reputation. And you have a need. That's a currency I can work with."
He gestured with a slender hand toward a quieter, more secluded section of the market. "Walk with me."
They followed him, the crowd parting before the broker as if by an unspoken command. He led them to a tent made of shimmering, sound-dampening fabric. Inside, the chaos of the market faded to a dull thrum. The space was spartan, containing only a low table, several cushions, and shelves lined with glowing crystals and sealed jars containing things that twitched and pulsed.
Silas settled onto a cushion, gesturing for them to do the same. Gideon remained standing, a looming sentinel at the flap of the tent. "The Somnambulist," Silas said, getting straight to the point. "A nasty piece of work. A legend that just crawled out of the history books. You're in deeper than I thought."
"We need to know where she is," Konto said, his voice flat. "And how to kill her."
"Kill her?" Silas chuckled, a genuinely amused sound this time. "You can't kill a concept, my friend. She's not a person anymore. She's a living plague of sorrow, a meme given flesh. She was a healer once, you know. One of the best. She tried to save everyone from their pain by taking it into herself. It broke her. It remade her."
Liraya leaned forward, her analytical mind seizing on the details. "Who was she? Before?"
"A name is power, and I don't give that away for free," Silas chided gently. "But I can tell you where she nests. She's drawn to places of great suffering, places where the veil between worlds is thin. She's waiting for the full moon, when the city's dreams will be at their most potent. She's planning to finish what she started."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "I can give you the location. A forgotten sanitarium in the old industrial district, a place where they used to treat the victims of Somnolent Corruption. It's a hive of her power now."
"What's the price?" Konto asked, knowing there was always a price.
Silas smiled, and for the first time, his eyes held a glint of something other than ancient weariness. It was greed. Pure and simple. "Not money. I want a favor. A retrieval. There's an artifact in the Magisterium's high-security vault. A dream-crystal. A piece of raw, solidified dreamscape. It can store and amplify psychic energy on a massive scale. Moros wants it. I want it to stay out of his hands."
Liraya paled. "The Aethel Stone. It's the primary power source for the city's dream-dampening wards. If Moros gets it, he can amplify the Nightmare Plague a hundredfold. If we take it, we cripple the city's defenses."
"A delightful dilemma, isn't it?" Silas spread his hands. "You get the location of your monster. In return, you steal a toy from a tyrant for me. Do we have a deal?"
Konto looked at Liraya, then at Gideon. They were caught between a rock and a hard place, a devil's bargain offered by the only devil who could help them. To refuse was to remain blind, hunted by an enemy who knew their every move. To accept was to become a thief, to risk the city's already fragile safety for a chance at striking back.
He met Silas's gaze, the broker's eyes seeming to see too much, to know the desperation that gnawed at his soul.
"The ghost of Aethelburg," Silas whispered, a final, knowing confirmation. "I hear you're looking for a nightmare. I know where she sleeps."