Serina's shift at The Broken Wand went on for a very long time.
The morning she had to carry flour sacks to the bakery and the afternoon she had to scrub clothes at the wash. As she served ale, she had to avoid drunk wizards and fake smiles she didn't feel.
But she wasn't thinking about that.
Something must be there. Anywhere.
Between jobs, she had asked quiet questions all day. People on the street were asked in whispers about illegal therapists. Carefully thought out questions about black market cures were asked of shady characters.
Nothing. Everyone either laughed or told her to accept reality.
Nulls died. That's just how the world worked. "Another round here, girl!" A mage slammed his mug down.
Serina grabbed it without looking. Her hands moved automatically—pour, serve, collect coins, dodge grabbing hands. Her body knew the routine.
But her ears stayed sharp, listening to every conversation around her. "—heard the Mage-Knights found another locked chamber—" "—my cousin swears there's treasure in the old undercity—" "—complete nonsense, Garrett. You're drunk—" That last voice made Serina pause. She looked toward the corner table.
Old Garrett sat hunched over his ale, face red from drinking. The men around him were laughing.
"I'm telling the truth!" Garrett's voice rose. "My grandfather worked construction before the crash. He saw things down there. Things the Mage-Kings wanted buried."
"Sure he did," another man snorted. "What kind of things?" "Chambers. Hidden rooms. Places sealed with magic so strong nobody could open them." Garrett leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "He said there were riches inside. Magic items from before the war. Powerful stuff the kings wanted locked away forever."
Serina's pulse quickened. She moved closer, pretending to wipe down a nearby table.
"Where?" someone asked mockingly. "In your imagination?" "In the undercity sewers!" Garrett slammed his fist on the table. "Third junction past the old mill ruins. There's a door covered in images. My grandfather saw it with his own eyes. Said it glowed in the dark."
"And what? You expect us to believe there's wealth just sitting there?" "I'm saying what I know. The Mage-Kings locked dangerous things away. But the doors are still there. And if someone could open one..." Garrett shrugged. "Who knows what they'd find?"
The men laughed him off, calling him crazy.
But Serina's hands had stopped moving.
A secret door in the undercity. Sealed rooms. Magic riches.
It was probably nothing. Just a drunk's dream.
But what if it wasn't?
What if there really was something down there—some magical item, some old relic—powerful enough to heal Leo?
The undercity was a death trap. Everyone knew that. Criminals. Disease. Darkness so complete you could get lost forever.
But Leo was dying.
And desperate people took desperate risks.
Serina finished her shift in a daze, Garrett's words ringing in her head.
Third junction past the old mill. A door covered in symbols.
When the bar finally closed at midnight, she didn't go home.
She went to the undercity entry.
The broken grate gaped in the street like a mouth waiting to swallow her whole.
Serina stood at the edge, staring down into total darkness. The smell hit her hard—rot, sewage, and something worse underneath. Something dead.
Every survival instinct screamed at her to walk away.
But she thought of Leo's pale face. His blood-stained lips. His small voice saying maybe it's better if I just go.
She climbed down.
The ladder was slick with slime. Her boots slipped twice. The second time, she barely caught herself, heart beating as she dangled over the black water below.
When her feet finally touched bottom, she was standing in ankle-deep sewage.
The darkness was absolute.
She pulled out the small oil lamp she'd brought and lit it with shaking hands. The flame sputtered to life, pushing back darkness just enough to see a few feet ahead.
Stone tunnels stretched in every direction. Water dripped from the roof. Things skittered in the corners—rats for sure. Maybe worse.
Third junction past the old mill.
Serina started walking.
Every sound made her jump. Every splash could be something hunting her. The lamp's tiny circle of light felt pathetic against the crushing darkness.
The tunnels twisted like a maze. She passed collapsed doors and piles of rubble. Saw scratches on the walls—claw marks? Or just erosion?
She couldn't tell.
Time became useless. Had she been walking five minutes or five hours?
Then she saw them.
The old mill ruins.
Massive grinding stones half-submerged in stagnant water. Broken machinery covered in rust and slime. This had been part of the city's foundation before everything fell into the earth.
Garrett had been right about this part.
Maybe he was right about the rest.
Serina counted junctions carefully as she went forward.
One. A tunnel to the left, closed by fallen rocks.
Two. A path to the right, from which cold air blew.
Three.
She stopped.
The tunnel here looked the same as all the others at first. Dark. Dripping. Abandoned.
But when she raised her lamp, something caught her eye.
Scratch marks.
Covering the walls. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Deep gouges like people had tried to claw through solid stone with bare hands.
Her skin prickled. How many others had come here? How many had failed?
She followed the marks deeper.
The tunnel stopped at a wall.
But this wall was different. Smooth. Deliberately cut. And covering every inch— Symbols.
Serina stepped closer, heart racing.
The marks weren't painted or scratched. They were part of the stone itself, like someone had written them while the rock was still soft. Strange forms that hurt to look at. Letters from a dead language.
She reached out slowly.
The moment her fingers came within an inch of the stone, the symbols flared to life.
Serina gasped and jerked back.
Pale blue light erupted across the wall, outlining every sign with a soft glow. Not bright, but steady. Pulsing like a heartbeat.
The scratch marks suddenly made terrible sense. Others had seen this. Had tried hard to break through.
All had failed.
The glowing symbols formed designs that pressed against her mind. She couldn't read them, but their meaning felt heavy.
Danger.
Sealed.
Do not open.
Serina's hand hovered over the warm stone. Behind this door could be gold. Magic. Something that might save Leo.
Or nothing. Just an empty room. Or a trap.
She pressed both hands against the wall and pushed.
Nothing happened.
She pushed harder. The stone didn't move.
Frustration burned in her chest. "Open. Please."
Still nothing. "I need what's inside!" She slammed her fist against the wall. "My brother is dying! OPEN!"
The stone mocked her with its silence.
She hit it again. Harder. Her fingers scraped against a sharp edge where two symbols met.
Pain flared. "Damn it!" She yanked her hand back.
Blood welled up from a deep cut across her hand. Dark red in the lamplight.
This was useless. Just another dead end.
Serina turned to leave, holding her bleeding hand.
A single drop of blood fell from her fingers.
It hit the door.
And everything changed..