Arthur descended the basement steps, the air heavy with dust and stale stone. He stopped at the old bench where he and Elowen had sat two weeks ago. For a moment, he just stood there, breathing in slow, steadying himself. Then he pushed open the heavy door and moved deeper in.
A shape waited in the gloom ahead, tall enough to eclipse even Arthur's frame. The man had the wiry build of someone who hadn't wasted strength on bulk, only lean survival. His face carried years of strain carved into faint creases around the eyes and mouth, a rough stubble lining his jaw. Light brown hair, unevenly cut, fell to his brow.
Klein Winslow.
He leaned casually against the wall, hands sunk in his coat pockets. A cigarette glowed between his lips, smoke curling in lazy ribbons. He plucked it free with two fingers and let a stream of haze drift toward the ceiling. "This the fourth time I've seen you wander down here," he said, voice low and gravelly. "Finally mustered the courage?"
Arthur shook his head. "It wasn't about courage. But… yeah. I'm finally going to see him."
Klein's mouth quirked into a grin, followed by a short, dry chuckle, more a sound in his throat than a laugh. "Hm. Well, don't let me keep you standing around." He slid the cigarette back into his mouth, exhaled another stream of smoke, and brushed past Arthur, patting his shoulder as he went.
Arthur carried on, down a corridor that stretched far too long for comfort. The deeper he walked, the colder the air became, biting with damp stone. Iron doors lined both sides, heavy locks glinting in the torchlight. This was no ordinary cellblock—it was built to hold those who had shaken the world with their crimes.
At last, he reached the one he sought.
Inside, Clyde sat slouched on a metal bench bolted to the wall. No cushion, just bare steel. The cuffs on his wrists jingled faintly as he tapped a slow rhythm on his thigh, head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed.
Arthur stopped at the bars, words catching in his throat.
What do I say? Even with two weeks to think, I haven't come up with a single thing.
His mouth opened, voice rasping before he could stop himself. "Why?"
Clyde didn't stir. Silence swelled, filling the room until it pressed on Arthur's chest.
Maybe I was a fool to come.
Arthur turned slightly toward the exit.
"Why what?" Clyde's voice finally came, sharp and level.
Arthur faced him again, moving to lean against the metal table fixed to the floor. He exhaled through his nose. "Why everything? I understand your idea of justice, or at least I thought I did. But this? How could you ever call this justice?"
Clyde's chin dropped, eyes opening to pin Arthur with a stare. "It is justice. You're the one blinded, clinging to a distorted view of right and wrong. You can't see the truth this world bleeds from every pore."
Arthur shook his head slowly. "No. Siding with the blights isn't justice. It's worse than villainy. You aided a genocide against your own kind."
Clyde's cuffs rattled as his fist slammed against his thigh. "Do not twist my actions, Veiss! I am no ally to the blights. They are a stepping stone, nothing more. You can't fathom the change this world needs. Maybe this genocide is what it takes for humanity to finally open its eyes."
Arthur's brow furrowed, gaze hard. "The fact you can even say that tells me everything about who you are. You're more twisted than the monsters you claim to despise."
Clyde's laugh burst out sharp and bitter. "Idiot. You're no different than them. Change on this scale—true change—cannot happen without the power of a god. Everything I've endured was a path carved toward this moment. I was meant to do this."
"You're insane." Arthur's voice dropped, cold. "I thought once that your goal was admirable. I was wrong. You've said enough." He turned to leave. "You're pathetic."
Clyde's voice rose behind him, almost manic. "My mother was a blight. I'm only half human. Can you believe it?" A laugh slipped out, empty, joyless. "My whole life, people hated me. Even the children. And they didn't even know why. The truth about my mother was buried, forbidden. Their hatred was blind, baseless. And yet it consumed us." His eyes burned now, fixed on Arthur's back. "Tell me, Veiss, is that justice?"
Arthur froze, just for a second.
Clyde pressed on, words spilling like a dam breaking. "That was only the beginning. It showed me the world's flaws. With the power of both races in my blood, I saw clearly—corruption everywhere, weakness smothered. And the weak? They change nothing. They vanish."
Arthur's jaw clenched. He didn't turn. "You've already lost yourself. You'll rot in here." He shoved the door open, the iron groaning as it slammed shut behind him.
It was a mistake. He's insane. There's no saving him.
Arthur looked down at his own hand, flexing his fingers slowly.
But I changed.
He shook his head, pushing forward into the hall's shadows.
Lyra waited at the end of the hall, elbows tucked to her ribs, Elowen and Reid close at her sides. Her posture was all coiled patience, like a bowstring. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing when Arthur appeared in the doorway. "You ready to go now?" she asked, voice light but edged.
Arthur hesitated for a breath. "You really waited for me out here?"
Lyra gave a slow nod. "We followed you in. Now hurry up, I hate procrastinating. The blights are not going to take themselves down, right?"
Arthur gave a thin, half smile and stepped forward. The four of them moved out together, boots soft on packed dirt and broken stone.
———
Cain moved down a tunnel that smelled of iron and old rot. They were deep in the blight dimension, a nest of tunnels wound through the roots of the Crimson Tree. The air here pulsed with heavy mana. Luminous veins crawled along the walls, throbbing like a synched heartbeat. Bits of tangled iron and scavenged metal leaned against the curve of the earthen walls. Bones, both small and large, hung from hooks or lay in pits, bleached into pale trophies.
Cain stepped into a chamber where the light shifted in sickly colors. This room was less a hall and more a maw that opened to a central altar. Roots thick as columns braided into the ceiling. Pools of viscous, dark fluid collected in low basins. The generator sat off center, a grotesque machine of twisted metal and crystal, humming with an awful, steady note that made the air taste sharp on the tongue. Around it, smashed crates and the half-decayed bodies of creatures lay where they had fallen.
Julius stood over a carcass, hands slick with gore. He looked smaller in the dim glow than the rumors made him, but his presence filled the room. His skin had a mapped pallor and his breathing came in shallow, concentrated pulls. The scar across his chest gleamed sickly in the light where ancient wounds never fully closed. When Cain appeared he spat, a flake of bone clattering across wet stone. He rose, mouth red with what he had eaten, and fixed Cain with a look that felt like a challenge more than a greeting. "Why do you disrupt my feast exactly?"
Cain moved with the easy smugness of someone used to walking through danger. He smirked and folded his hands behind his back. "Your Majesty, the humans have discovered the location of our generator. We have been compromised. They will not find it pleasant."
Julius's brow dipped. He did not leap to fury, he measured, his voice low and precise. "This is what you risked coming for? Should the defense fall, you will be the one to take its place."
Cain's grin widened. "I was already planning on it. I have a score to settle, Your Majesty. I will enjoy feasting on their corpses in your honor."
A hard line formed at Julius's mouth. He ran a slow hand over the scar on his chest, fingers dragging through old tissue like a reflex. "You are thinking too far ahead. We have not yet acquired the woman. She is necessary for my recovery." The words slid from him without heat, as if naming a piece on a board. "Once I stand again the generals will be discarded. The humans will crumble."
Cain's smile dimmed in a fraction, the cocky light cooling into a leaner amusement. "Genius plan," he said, but the tone was thin.
Julius wiped a smear of blood from his cheek and let out a dry chuckle that made the roots tremble. "Go. Leave me to my work. Fetch me victory, not news. Do not disgrace me again, general." His eyes glittered for a moment with something like hunger and pure calculation. "These humans grow bolder. I grow tired of toys that bite the hand that feeds them."
Cain's jaw tightened. He bowed his head in one smooth motion, then turned toward the tunnel. He was the sort to take insults like a coin to spend later. When he reached the mouth of the chamber he hesitated and glanced back over his shoulder. "I will not fail you," he said, and the lie sat in the air like smoke.
Julius watched Cain go until the tunnel swallowed him. Around him, the chamber exhaled a slow, wet breath.