The transition from the upper districts of Narakka to the lower slums was like watching a high-definition movie suddenly turn into a grainy, black-and-white film. One minute, Joshua and Roselia were surrounded by golden light and the smell of expensive nectar; the next, they were descending a series of rusted, creaking metal stairs that felt like they were held together by nothing but prayers and old bolts.
"Keep your voices down," Kairyn whispered, his hand resting on a heavy metal pipe at his waist. "The sound travels differently down here. In the upper ring, the music masks everything. Down here, even a sneeze can bring the Guardians down on your head."
Joshua tapped his cane—which was actually the sheath of his sword—against the metal floor. The vibration told him everything he needed to know. The structures here were hollow, decaying, and far away from the "World-Tree" that powered the kingdom's glamor.
"The vibe is definitely off," Roselia murmured, pulling her cloak tighter. "It's freezing. Does the Myth not believe in heaters for the poor?"
"Heaters cost 'Hope Energy,'" Sharla chimed in, adjusting her goggles. Her small boots made almost no sound on the metal. "The Myth only gives energy to the people who are 'Happy.' Since we're technically the 'Sad People' or the 'Awakened,' we get the leftovers. Which is mostly cold air and shadows."
They were walking through a narrow corridor between two massive, floating island foundations. Huge, thick chains as thick as redwood trees groaned as they swayed in the wind, connecting the paradise above to the forgotten world below.
Joshua stopped suddenly. Kage, the raven on his shoulder, let out a low, rhythmic clicking sound in the back of his throat.
"Joshua?" Roselia asked, her hand moving toward her waist where her hidden daggers lay. "You feel it too?"
"The air just got... sharp," Joshua said. "Kairyn, does this place usually smell like a glass factory?"
Kairyn froze, sniffing the air. His eyes widened. "Move. Now! Get behind the crates!"
But they were too late.
From the darkness of a nearby trash heap, something shimmered. At first, it looked like a beautiful, crystalline glass mug—the kind you'd see in a five-star tavern in the District of False Joy. It sat perfectly still on a rusted barrel. Then, another one appeared. And another. Soon, there were dozens of them, clinking softly against each other like a toast at a wedding.
"Tavern Mimics," Sharla hissed, her face pale. "How did they follow us this far down? They aren't supposed to leave the Middle Ring!"
"They didn't follow us," Joshua said, his voice as cold as the wind. "They were sent. The Myth isn't as blind as we thought."
The glass mugs didn't just sit there. They began to vibrate, and then, with a terrifying crack, they started to grow. The glass stretched and warped, forming jagged, spindly legs and sharp, crystalline teeth. They weren't just mugs anymore; they were predatory insects made of reinforced diamond-glass.
"Stay back, kids," Kairyn growled, pulling out a heavy, serrated blade. "These things are a nightmare. If they bite you, the glass shards stay in your bloodstream. It's a slow way to go."
"Kairyn, wait," Joshua said, stepping forward. He didn't look scared. In fact, he looked bored. "Roselia, you handle the flanks? I don't want them scratching the furniture."
Roselia smirked, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "You got it, King. Just don't get any glass in your hair. It's a pain to wash out."
The first Mimic leaped. It was fast—a blur of transparent light. Kairyn swung his blade, but the glass was too hard; his sword just sparked against the creature's hide.
Then, Joshua moved.
He didn't remove his blindfold—not yet. He didn't need to. Through Kage's eyes, he saw the world in high-contrast violet. He moved like a dancer, stepping to the left just as the Mimic's glass claws whistled past his ear.
Clang!
In one fluid motion, Joshua's sword was out. It wasn't a normal sword; the blade was a deep, matte black that seemed to absorb the little light left in the slums. He didn't swing wildly. He poked. A single, precise thrust right into the "handle" of the Mimic—its core.
The creature shattered instantly. It didn't just break; it exploded into fine dust that sparkled in the air.
"No way," Sharla gasped from behind a crate. "He just one-shotted a Mimic? Those things have a defense stat of like, 99!"
"Don't get distracted!" Roselia shouted.
Three Mimics tried to ambush Joshua from behind, but Roselia was already there. She didn't use a sword. She shifted. For a split second, her body became a literal shadow on the wall, and then she reappeared behind the monsters. Her daggers were coated in a dark, pulsing energy.
"Shadow Stitch," she whispered.
She struck the ground, and shadows rose like physical chains, wrapping around the glass legs of the Mimics. They hissed—a sound like metal scraping on a chalkboard—as they tried to break free.
"All yours, Josh!"
Joshua spun, his cloak billowing like a king's mantle. He held his sword with one hand, his posture regal and calm. "Vanquish."
He performed a horizontal slash. A wave of dark energy rippled out, hitting the trapped Mimics. The impact was silent, but the result was total. The glass shattered into millions of pieces, falling to the floor like a broken chandelier.
Kairyn watched with his mouth open. He had been fighting for the resistance for years, struggling to even chip the armor of these beasts. And here were these two—two "tourists"—cleaning house like they were doing chores.
"Who are you people?" Kairyn asked, his voice shaking slightly.
"Just two people looking for their parents," Roselia said, wiping a bit of glass dust off her shoulder. She winked at Sharla. "And maybe some decent food. Is there a restaurant in the slums that doesn't serve glass?"
The silence that followed was heavy. The threat was gone, but the realization of Joshua and Roselia's power was just sinking in.
Suddenly, the Old Book in Joshua's pocket began to vibrate violently. It wasn't just warm now; it was hot.
"The book," Joshua muttered, pulling it out.
The pages flipped on their own, stopping at a blank sheet near the middle. Ink began to swirl on the page, forming words in a beautiful, ancient script that only someone with a deep understanding of poetry could truly grasp.
"The glass reflects the soul that fears to break. In the city of dreams, the first to wake is the first to bleed. Seek the heart that beats in the rust, or let your destiny turn to dust."
Underneath the poem, a single question appeared in glowing red ink:
"Is a beautiful lie better than an ugly truth?"
"It's starting," Joshua said, looking toward the dark tunnels that led deeper into the Sleepless Slums. "The Book is asking. And if we don't answer correctly, we aren't getting out of Narakka alive."
Kairyn stepped forward, his expression serious. "That question... that's what we ask everyone who joins the resistance. It's not just a riddle. It's a choice."
"Well," Roselia said, looking at the rusted walls and the cold, dark sky above. "I think we've already made our choice. This 'paradise' is trash. Let's go find the heart in the rust."