The city was quiet again. Not dead, not silent, just… watching. Its buildings hummed faintly with power, its streets dusted with soft, ambient light. The ancient mechanisms of Menystria, created long before humans thought of machines, welcomed their return without celebration.
A few hours after James vanished into the walls of the Citadel like a storm folding into itself, the remaining two brothers crossed through the great gates. Evodil led, hands in his pockets, his eyes sharp but relaxed. Noah followed closely, eyes scanning the buildings, muttering something about energy grids and magnetic fields.
"I swear—" Evodil began, pausing to kick a rock that had the misfortune of being in his path. "—that entire territory is one 'revolution' away from falling into the ocean."
Noah smirked behind him, holding a small device in his hand, something that looked like a cross between a phone and a puzzle box. "You're just annoyed they broke up all your favorite maps. Besides, you barely stepped outside a week and half the population thought you were a war god descending to smite them."
Evodil rolled his eyes, though he couldn't hide the grin. "Not my fault they're cowards. And you're one to talk—what about your cyber palace in tech-dystopia China?"
"China's not a dystopia," Noah said, half-defensive, "just—extremely ahead. They've developed a non-invasive neural interface. One guy even recommended a book to me… 'Lord of the Mysteries.' Sounded suspiciously accurate about divine interference."
Evodil glanced back. "Let me guess. Another mortal work pretending they've figured us out?"
"More or less," Noah muttered. "But it's not bad. Worldbuilding's solid. The humans still think gods are only dangerous when angry. They never consider what happens when we're bored."
The thought made Evodil chuckle as they finally stepped onto the main path leading up to the Citadel. The wind shifted, cooler here, carrying the scent of old stone and metal. The place always felt like it watched them. Always.
Noah paused briefly to look at a cracked column, some old Menystrian design curling along the surface. "James is back already?"
Evodil nodded without turning. "Didn't say a word to the guards. He looked like he wanted to punch a hole in reality again."
"Let me guess. France?"
"France."
They continued walking, the looming Citadel just ahead now, waiting.
They approached the Gate, as ordinary in origin as it was extraordinary in function—a relic co-forged by Noah's meticulous runework and James's volatile sunfire, pulsing with a searing, almost divine light. Anything organic not coded to pass through would be disintegrated in an instant, vaporized into nothingness by the brightness that washed over the path like molten law. The only ones permitted entry were the gods themselves—and whatever else they chose, though such exceptions were rare, and usually regretted.
Evodil stepped through first, barely flinching as the light rippled over his frame. Noah followed with a hand raised out of habit, though the light never touched him. Together they emerged into the vast stone courtyard, the glowing seams beneath their feet dimming as if recognizing its masters.
Inside the Citadel, it didn't take long to find him.
James sat at one of the long tables in the war room, the chamber where laws were written and rewritten, sometimes in blood, sometimes in silence. The chair was turned slightly, his arm draped along the back lazily. An empty bottle of whiskey rested on the table beside his elbow. It was glass—old-fashioned, elegant—and completely dry. Not a drop remained.
His face was unreadable. Not angry. Not sad. Just quiet in that specific, volatile way that always promised violence if you looked too long.
Evodil stopped a few steps away, arms crossed. "Well, well… You've returned, intact. I was half expecting another smoldering crater in the Alps."
Noah stepped beside him, hands in his coat pockets. "Looks like the whiskey lost, huh?"
James didn't look at them. Didn't blink.
Evodil leaned forward slightly, smiling with that smug older-brother energy only he could channel. "So. Which part of France got you like this? Let me guess—told someone you were a god again and they still didn't fall to their knees?"
No response.
Noah squinted. "Wait... Did someone reject you?"
James's eye twitched.
Evodil grinned. "Oh my god, someone actually said no to you?"
"Her name was Jessica," James growled, voice low but sharp.
That was it.
Evodil cackled, loud and gleeful, slapping the stone table like it personally offended him. "Oh that's perfect. You got shut down by a woman named Jessica in a boutique? Not even a queen, not a general, not a titaness—just Jessica in red."
Noah, trying to keep his composure, failed completely. "Did you flex your godhood again? What was the line this time—'Bow before the sun'?"
"She didn't know who you were, didn't care, and still kicked you out, didn't she?" Evodil wheezed, almost falling into the seat beside him.
"I'm going to kill both of you," James muttered, cracking his neck.
"Oh please, you got rejected and committed arson," Noah said, biting back another grin. "You're not unstable, you're just single."
James stood up suddenly, chair screeching against the floor—but Evodil raised a hand.
"No. No, no. Sit down, Lord Sun. You're not getting away from this moment. It's too good. You tried to charm your way into mortal affection and ended up torching a clothing store."
James growled again but sat back down, glaring into the bottle as if it might refill itself out of pity.
Evodil leaned in closer. "Tell me one thing, brother. Was it at least a good suit?"
James didn't answer.
Noah added, smirking, "You could always go back. Apologize. Maybe offer her a new shop. Or a small country. Or your dignity."
James's eye twitched again.
And Evodil, ever the instigator, finished the round:
"Face it, James. She saw the suit, saw the ego, and still decided: No gods allowed."
James didn't say anything. He just clenched his fist, and under the table, the stone cracked.
James stormed toward Evodil, the temperature in the room spiking hard, sweat forming instantly on the table's surface as stone cracked under his boots.
"I'm going to feed you your own heart."
Evodil just blinked.
"I don't have organs inside me, dumbass—"
That's when the warhammer appeared, mid-sentence. Summoned in a flash of sunfire, it dropped into James's hand like a meteor falling into place.
With zero hesitation, he swung it straight at Evodil's face.
Evodil ducked, the hammer missing by a few centimeters—but not cleanly. The heat trailing behind the strike melted part of his forehead, skin sizzling before instantly regenerating.
"Ow. Asshole!"
James didn't respond. His eyes glowed, wild and pissed. He was done being mocked.
Meanwhile, Noah didn't hesitate for a single second. The moment James's hammer manifested, he was already backing up—hands raised like surrender would save him.
"Nope. Nope nope nope. I'm a scholar, not a punching bag! Best of luck, morons!"
He turned and bolted, coat flaring behind him as he ran out of the Citadel. The thunder of the brawl echoed behind him, each clash of divine power shaking dust loose from the high ceilings.
Outside, the rain had stopped, clouds thinning. Noah stopped on the stairs, catching his breath.
He muttered to himself.
"Fighting brothers with sun-hammers and chaos knives? Hard pass."
His eyes drifted toward the horizon. The crater.
That massive Menystrian scar carved deep into the earth, still untouched since the last reset. Even the gods rarely wandered down there.
"…Screw it. I'm bored."
He walked up to the edge, looked down into the depths. Wind howled from below like it hated being forgotten. He took a few steps back—
And slid down the edge, boots cutting a line into the stone wall as he descended.
"Let's see what the hell's at the bottom of this pit."
Noah hit the ground with a solid thud, a small dust cloud puffing up around his boots. He straightened his back, brushing off the front of his coat, and looked up—
Nothing.
Not even a faint glow from the top. Just swirling darkness pressing down, deep and quiet.
"...Alright. Definitely creepier than I expected," he muttered.
He took a step forward, boots crunching against mineral shards and uneven stone. His eyes scanned the crater floor, picking up unusual minerals, sharp-edged and glowing faintly from within. Some plants had forced their way out of cracks, sprouting through solid rock with glowing blue leaves and pulsing veins of energy.
Interesting, yeah. But not that interesting.
He took one of the glowing minerals, flipped it over in his hand, and held it up to his crystal tablet, letting it scan and categorize the sample.
Name: Unknown.
Composition: ???
Smells Like: Regret.
He raised an eyebrow. "Okay... what the hell kind of scan result is that?"
Another plant. Another mineral. Another weirdly shaped stone that looked like it was definitely judging him.
After a few more minutes of poking at stuff, he sighed.
"Y'know what? Screw this."
He snapped his fingers and summoned a few perfectly round, white spheres—glowing faintly, suspended just above his palm before dropping them.
He grabbed one and chucked it across the crater floor. It bounced off a stone and zipped off into the shadows. Another one flew in the opposite direction.
He threw a third straight up and watched it disappear into the darkness.
"...Great. I've hit peak boredom. I'm playing fetch with myself in an ancient goddamn sinkhole."
He kept tossing the spheres, listening to the echoes bounce back at him—but then something felt off.
One of the balls didn't bounce.
It hit something—and stayed.
Noah stopped. His shoulders tensed, and he squinted in the direction it had gone.
"..that's not a wall."
Noah walked over to where the ball had landed, eyes narrowing at the strange material beneath it. Unlike the familiar faintly blue stone of Menystria, this rock was a dull, almost comical gray, as if suspended in time. He reached out and touched it cautiously, feeling the cold, smooth surface beneath his fingers.
Curiosity deepened, he pulled out his crystal tablet and began scanning the gray rock, eyes flicking between the data and the eerie material. The readings were baffling, unlike anything he'd seen before.
He was so absorbed in his discovery that he forgot to stay alert—especially with his brothers still locked in their fight above.
Suddenly, from above, a blazing flame intertwined with a form-shifting cube made of shadow hurtled toward him. The impact knocked him down hard, sending him crashing through the gray rock. The ground gave way beneath him, opening a dark entrance that spiraled far, far down.
As he fell, his voice tore through the silence in a raw scream.
"FUUUUUUUUCKINNGGG IMBICILEEESSSS—"
He landed hard on unfamiliar ground, the impact knocking the breath clean out of his lungs. For someone nearly omniscient, not seeing that coming was... well, exactly what you'd expect. Of fucking course.
After a few groans and coughs, he pushed himself up. His suit? Burnt to hell and back—amazing, really.
His tablet? Useless. Just a cluster of cracked stones that no longer responded to his touch.
But then he looked around, and there it was—the one undeniable plus.
All around him: creatures, plants, strange rocks and minerals, bugs crawling and buzzing.
A whole new world to explore.
He dusted off his suit, groaning as the movement reminded him of the fall—and that damn flame-cube thing that knocked him down.
He started walking, eyes scanning the strange landscape around him. Flying squids glided lazily through the air, their tentacles trailing like ribbons. In the distance, giant serpents composed of shifting shadows slithered along the horizon, barely visible but undeniably there. Bats the size of the Citadel circled overhead, their wings beating with a thunderous rhythm.
The noise was unbearable—more irritating than Evodil's endless ranting.
He almost reached for his tablet, but the memory of it being nothing more than useless rubble stopped him. He let out a heavy sigh.
For a moment, his mind drifted back to a time before they wore human forms—when all three of them were equal. Well, almost equal in power, before the world came to be from their conflict.
Now?
If he tried with everything he had, maybe he could destroy a planet. Beyond that, his usefulness was limited to being a walking encyclopedia.
He walked a bit more, the dark serpents from before suddenly feeling too close for comfort. He shrugged it off at first — no problem.
But then they started moving toward him. Massive. Longer than entire cities.
He knew he had to act fast.
Summoning rubble and stones, he tried to block their path, hurling chunks of rock with everything he had. But it was useless. The serpents ignored the obstacles, sliding through and around like they didn't even notice.
So he did what any sane god would do — he ran.
He sprinted like hell, muscles burning, until he finally reached a hill in this underground world.
He stopped and sighed, chest heaving as he took a deep breath.
Around him, spiral-shaped trees and twisted bushes grew — actual vegetation, down here in the depths.
Impressive.
He sat down, leaning against one of the spiral trees, the rough bark pressing into his back. Grabbing a sturdy branch, he scratched into the dirt at his feet, marking everything he'd learned so far—what to avoid, where the exit might be, and a not-so-friendly reminder about how he planned to punish the two assholes responsible for his fall into this hellhole. The movements were automatic, almost meditative.
Despite being a god, and gods rarely tiring, exhaustion began creeping in. He wasn't used to it—he and his brothers never needed sleep, never felt fatigue like this. Maybe it was something about this underground world messing with them. Who knew.
Still, after finishing the notes, he leaned back again against the tree and closed his eyes. For the first time in a while, he let himself just be still.
After he laid down against the tree, the world almost calmed down.
The unique flora around him gave off a quiet, steady glow. It wasn't bright—just enough to outline the shapes of twisted plants and jagged stone. The air was thick, but not suffocating, filled with the low hum of underground life. Distant drips echoed across the cavern, mixed with the occasional rustle of something shifting through crystal-lined crevices.
Some of the plants pulsed faintly, as if following their own heartbeat. Others moved slowly, curling or unfolding in response to subtle changes in temperature. Long stalks dangled from the cave ceiling, dripping with condensed moisture that hissed quietly when it hit the warm mineral floor.
The ground was uneven, made up of rough stone, patches of bioluminescent moss, and glassy mineral shards that caught the dim light in fractured reflections. Every step—or in this case, every breath—seemed to stir faint clouds of dust that never quite settled.
It wasn't peaceful, but it wasn't hostile either. Just… alive, in a way only the deep earth could be. Strange, but stable.
Noah didn't move. He let the quiet blanket him and, for the first time in a while, allowed himself to rest.
After a couple hours he finally woke up, stretching for a bit before standing up, feeling himself lighter again… and then he remembered.
Right. Evodil and his stupid shadows.
The reason he felt so weak after getting hit by that… cube… whatever. Not important. It was Evodil's power—that annoying, reality-bending mess. He can absorb anything with those attacks. Strength, energy, focus. Even from allies. Even from innocents. Doesn't matter. If it reaches you, it takes.
Great design choice, really. "God of Chaos," my ass.
Does that mean he can defend himself now? Sure.
Can he fight an experienced brawler? Not a chance in hell.
Noah sighed, brushing dust off his sleeves and kicking at a rock that looked at him funny. The plants still pulsed around him like weird little glowsticks. He squinted down one of the tunnels branching off from the grove.
"…Guess we're going deeper."
He grabbed his stick he used before… why?… no reason. Even he didn't know why.
Going past even more trees, bushes, and taller grass, it was getting really annoying. More and more vegetation somehow, underground of all places. Even Menystria didn't have this problem, despite not having many civilians… well, none other than Shades.
He finally reached a clearing. A meadow, filled with flowers and actual… semi-bright sunlight. They were deep underground, and yet, there it was. A hole in the massive cavern ceiling, letting sunlight spill straight down onto the grass like some dramatic stage light.
And in the middle of the grassy place itself… a woman. Maybe?
She had green hair, the same shade as the grass around her. Yellow-ish pale skin, and a brown-and-white dress that looked handmade. Simple. Too clean for this place.
What did he do?
Threw the fucking stick at her.
She yelped, falling over and putting her hands over her face, the spot where the stick hit.
Noah, already expecting an attack from the unknown creature, summoned a dagger from the ground—stone, sharp, and humming faintly. He grabbed it without hesitation and ran at the woman.
He almost struck her head.
She raised her hand, barely fast enough. The blade went straight through her palm.
He froze for a second. The woman didn't scream—just winced, teeth clenched as blood spilled across the grass. No counterattack, no sudden shift into some monster. Just her… shielding herself.
Noah stared at her, the dagger still lodged in her hand.
After a moment, he pulled it out and stepped back, narrowing his eyes.
"…You're not here to kill me, are you."
He unsummoned the dagger with a flick, already crouching to grab some of the grass around him. The woman—still on the ground—was trying to say something, voice shaky.
"Ariela… The Goddess of Life."
Noah blinked slowly.
Cool.
Did he care? Not really.
She was a god? Fine. That happened sometimes.
Was she stronger than him? No. Not even close.
Was she telling the truth? Maybe. She wasn't strong, and she didn't seem particularly smart—but she definitely wasn't human. If she was a god, she had to be a subclass, some minor offshoot born long after the core divine systems had already been nailed down.
While she kept talking—mostly rambling between half-sobs—he started working. Pulled together grass, some flexible vines, and a few special threads he figured out how to summon during his fieldwork in Eastern Menystria. Something between silk and carbon fiber. Handy.
It wasn't pretty, but after a few minutes, he had a decent wrap over her palm. Tight. Secure. Functional.
She sniffled and gave him a soft "thank you."
He didn't answer.
He just sat back on the grass, arms resting over his knees, and stared at her like she was an oddly shaped puzzle someone threw into his day for no reason.
Noah finally introduced himself, leaning back on his hands like it was just another casual meeting.
"Noah Murk," he said, the fake surname slipping out smoothly—he'd used it plenty of times in the human world.
The woman blinked once.
"That's not your name."
He stared at her.
Was it impressive? Not even a little.
Was it annoying? Yes. A lot.
He clicked his tongue, already regretting saying anything. "Fine. Perceus."
Her eyes widened slightly at that, but he didn't give her the satisfaction of reacting. "Still going by Noah though," he added flatly, like that settled the matter.
Then came the questions.
"How long have you been down here?"
"Why do you look like that?"
"Why flowers? You're underground."
"Why didn't you block with your arm instead of your face?"
"What kind of god even are you?"
"Do you know where the serpents go during rest cycles?"
"Why is there sunlight?"
"What do you eat?"
"Do you even eat?"
"Are you bleeding chlorophyll or is that just weird sap?"
They came fast, blunt, and without any real rhythm. He wasn't being polite—just efficient. If she was going to claim she was a god, he was going to drag every useful detail out of her before she got weepy again.
Ariela barely had time to react.
She tried answering—really tried—but it was like watching someone try to catch knives with mittens. Every question hit her like a slap, and her answers came out slow, unsure, sometimes just wrong. She stumbled through half of them, then circled back, then stammered again.
Eventually, she just looked like she was about to cry.
Not from pain—just from sheer frustration. Embarrassment. Whatever self-worth she had was curling up into a fetal position somewhere behind her eyes.
Noah sighed.
Long and loud.
He finally stopped, leaning back with both hands behind him, staring up at the broken ceiling that let the sun through.
So this was it. The legendary "Goddess of Life." Fantastic.
He rubbed his face, dragging his palm down over his mouth.
"...Alright."
He stood up slowly, brushing dust from his coat, then looked down at her. Still shaking. Still teary-eyed. Still about as threatening as a wet towel.
"Let's try this slower," he muttered. "I'll use what humans call… 'compassion.'"
He made air quotes around the word like it physically hurt to say.
He didn't feel much. Not really. But apparently it worked on people. So he crouched again, a little less sharp this time.
"Start with just one thing. What are you doing down here?"
She finally managed to answer his questions, wiping the tears off her face with her uninjured hand.
She was born here.
She took care of the animals and plants.
Yes, she was female.
No, she didn't know what the outside world looked like.
And yes—he was the first to ever visit this place.
Noah nodded slowly, taking it all in. Semi-satisfied. Not impressed, but it was something. Enough to map out the basics, maybe connect it to some older root systems in Menystria's underground archives. He could always come back if he needed more.
This place was beneath Menystria, after all. Deep, but not unreachable.
He squinted at the cavern ceiling again, then at the surrounding meadow. Yeah. If he wanted to, he could definitely make something out of this.
A research point. A passageway. A containment field, maybe.
Options. Always options.
He stood up, brushing the back of his pants and adjusting his coat. Time to go.
He was ready to say his goodbyes—maybe he'd come back in a few years. Months, if he got bored enough.
But before he could turn, Ariela panicked.
"Wait—please," she said quickly, voice cracking a little. "Just… stay. Talk to me. A normal conversation, maybe? I've never seen anyone like you before. Another person. Someone who talks."
He paused.
Did he want to?
He would rather die.
But information was information. If the price was listening to her stumble through basic sentences, fine. He could handle it. Probably.
He sighed, staring up at the hole in the ceiling one more time, as if asking it for patience.
Then sat back down in the grass, legs crossed.
"Fine," he muttered. "You want a conversation? Start one."
Ariela hesitated at first, fidgeting with the edge of her grass-wrapped hand, but then she started speaking. Her voice was softer now—less panicked, more curious. Still unsure, but steadier.
"It's always quiet down here," she said, eyes drifting to the ceiling. "The plants hum when they sleep, and the stones near the roots glow when they're happy. I think they like warmth. I don't know why."
She pointed toward a cluster of flowers near a dark rock wall. "Those bloom when the cavern ceiling drips water. They close up again after. And over there—" she gestured farther, "—the light only touches that side, so it's where the flying things nest. The ones with long arms and no eyes."
Noah didn't comment. Just listened. Not out of politeness—he was cataloguing everything.
She continued. "I don't know how many seasons pass here. I don't think we have any. It's always… like this. Blue. Green. Still."
She glanced back at him, cautious.
"What's it like?" she asked. "The world above?"
Noah leaned back, arms resting across his knees again. For a moment, he debated giving her a sarcastic answer—something about pollution, taxes, and noise—but he stopped himself.
It wasn't sympathy. Just… he was tired of hearing his own voice.
"There's sky," he said finally. "A real one. Changes color depending on time. Blue, orange, gray, black. You can see stars at night."
Ariela tilted her head slightly, clearly trying to imagine what "stars" even were.
He went on.
"There are cities. Millions of people. Some stacked on top of each other in towers. Some build homes from metal and plastic. Others live in holes not too different from this one, just… less alive."
She looked fascinated. "And they're all like you?"
He snorted. "Not even close. Most of them wouldn't survive a day down here. They panic when the internet goes out."
Ariela blinked. "What's internet?"
He paused.
"…A mistake."
She smiled faintly at that, and for some reason, Noah didn't feel like insulting her for once.
He kept going, explaining clouds, rain, oceans, and sand. She soaked up every word like someone starved for meaning. And the strange thing?
He didn't hate it.
She asked about trees—why some lose their leaves, why others didn't. She asked what snow felt like. What thunder sounded like. If animals ever talked up there. If people ever sang without reason.
Noah didn't answer all of it. But he didn't shut her down either.
The conversation kept going.
And for a while… he forgot how much he wanted to leave.
Eventually, her questions drifted further.
"Do you have others like you?" she asked, voice soft. "Brothers… maybe? Opposites? I feel it in you—something sharp. Like you're half of something."
Noah's jaw tightened slightly.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I've got brothers."
She waited, and for once, he didn't deflect.
"One's Law. One's Chaos," he said, picking a blade of grass and twirling it between his fingers. "One sees in black and white. The other turns everything into noise and fire. Shadows and sun."
Ariela tilted her head. "Do you hate them?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"…Most of the time," he said eventually. "But not enough to kill them. Even if I tried, I couldn't."
Her brow furrowed slightly.
"They're stronger?"
He scoffed. "Of course they are. Always have been. I'm the youngest. The 'planner.' The book reader. I draw lines, build maps, look ahead. They tear them all up the second they get bored."
There was no bitterness in his tone—just tired familiarity. Resignation.
"But," Ariela said quietly, "you found this place. You came down here. They didn't."
Noah looked at her.
She didn't say it like she was trying to flatter him. Just a simple truth.
"To me," she said, her gaze calm, "you already seem like the strongest there is."
He blinked. Didn't smile. Didn't react. Just looked away again.
"…You're way too isolated," he muttered.
He stood up, sighing as her words echoed in his head.
"The strongest there is," huh?
Would be nice.
But he wasn't particularly mad about it. Strength was flashy. Loud. Temporary.
Knowledge? That lasted. Without it, nobody could even use their strength properly. Not even gods.
He dusted himself off, brushing a smudge of glowing pollen off his sleeve, and finally circled back to the point—the one thing he actually cared about.
"Alright. Let's stop pretending this was a casual visit."
He looked at her.
"How the hell do I get out of here?"
Ariela blinked, visibly uncomfortable. She looked toward the cavern ceiling, the distant hole barely visible with the light already starting to shift away.
"Well…" she started, wringing her fingers a bit, "if I knew where an exit was… I wouldn't be in the Underworld."
Noah stared.
Dead silence.
Then he sighed, again.
Of course.
He stared at her for a moment.
Goddess of Life… stuck here.
God of Knowledge… also stuck here.
Great.
He was sure they could figure something out.
Well—he could. Since he seemed to be the only person in this entire cavern who even knew what the word "plan" meant.
He dragged his hand down his face, muttering something under his breath, the irritation piling up second by second. The longer he stood there, the more absurd it felt. Him—him—without a solution? It was almost insulting.
But then, finally, something clicked.
This was a cavern, right?
And caverns had stalagmites.
If one was tall enough—if it reached near the ceiling—he could scale it. And from there, he could dig. Or melt. Or blast. Didn't matter how, as long as it led upward.
He looked around.
Time to find a spiky rock tall enough to break the sky.
He started moving without a word.
Ariela came trailing behind him, calling out, telling him to wait—but he didn't really hear her out. Didn't care to. He was focused now.
On the way, he kept grabbing stones. Shards, minerals, glowing fragments—half of them unfamiliar even to him. Ariela tried to explain each one, naming them, going on about what they did or how they grew.
He responded with a quiet "Mm," a nod, or a flat "Okay." No follow-up. No interest.
Eventually, they reached it.
A stalagmite big enough to reach the top. Thick, jagged, ugly—but it would do.
Noah looked up at it, adjusted his coat, and summoned a climbing spike from raw stone. He was already halfway planning how to anchor a structure onto its surface.
Ariela, behind him, asked softly, "What are you going to do now?"
He turned to her slowly.
His patience?
Ran out.
"What does it look like I'm gonna do?" he snapped, voice sharp. "I'm climbing this rock, I'm digging through the ceiling, and I'm getting the hell out of this cavern before I lose any more brain cells."
He turned back to the spire and gripped it tightly, the stone under his fingers responding to his touch.
"Don't follow unless you plan on being useful."
Ariela's voice trembled as she raised it, not yelling, but finally snapping a little.
"I tried," she said, following a few paces behind. "I tried to explain everything you touched, everything you looked at, because that's what I know. That's all I have."
Noah kept climbing, jaw tight.
"You didn't care. You didn't even look at me. I'm not asking for worship, I just—" she paused, voice breaking slightly. "You're the first person I've ever met. The first. And you've treated me like I'm just in the way."
He stopped.
Didn't turn around. Didn't say anything for a second.
Then came his answer.
"I'm not here for idle talk," he said flatly. "I'm not the god of friendship. Or feelings. Or… whatever this is. I'm here for information. I study. I observe. That's it."
His voice was as steady as ever, but something in it cracked just a little near the end. He couldn't ignore the sting behind her words—not entirely.
Because she wasn't wrong.
He didn't usually listen. Not really. He let words wash over him like background noise. But now?
Now he found himself actually hearing them. Not skipping, not filtering—listening.
And that was new.
He exhaled through his nose, gripping the rock tighter, then finally glanced over his shoulder.
"…Look," he said, tone a little lower. "If you're that desperate to talk, then fine. Talk. But while I climb."
And talk she did.
While Noah summoned gear—metal stakes formed from compacted ore, ropes woven from summoned thread, hooks shaped from crystallized roots—Ariela kept talking.
About her life in the cavern.
How the plants whispered when storms passed far above. How she learned to sense earthquakes a week before they happened by watching the flowers shift.
How she'd tried to climb the walls once. Failed. Fell. How she cried for days thinking she might die alone down here.
Why she couldn't follow him to Menystria.
"It's not just the height," she said quietly, watching as he anchored a reinforced line into the stone. "It's the weight. The pull. I'm bound to this place—I am this place. If I leave it…"
She trailed off. She didn't need to finish.
Noah, tightening a strap around his glove, actually responded.
"So don't leave. Send data. I'll check in."
It wasn't warm. Wasn't even friendly.
But it was the closest thing to a promise she'd gotten from anyone.
After a while, his prep was done.
So was he.
He checked the last hook, yanked the rope tight, and stood at the base of the stalagmite.
"I'm climbing out," he said. "Don't stop me."
He didn't wait for her answer.
Didn't need it.
Climbing wasn't anything new for him.
The tools held. The stone responded. Every grip was solid, every foothold stable. No shaking. No unexpected cracks.
Just movement. One step at a time. Slow. Steady.
A few minutes passed. Maybe more. The sounds of the cavern dulled behind him—Ariela's voice gone quiet somewhere below. The glowing flora faded into scattered pulses, and the higher he went, the darker it got. Less warmth. Less color.
Just cold rock and distance.
Eventually, he reached the top.
He pulled himself onto the flat ridge of the stalagmite, crouched there for a moment, and finally looked down.
The whole cavern stretched beneath him. A drop that went farther than it looked from below. Too far.
Noah stared at it for a while.
And for the first time in… centuries, maybe—he felt something twitch in his chest.
Not panic. Not vertigo.
Just a very real understanding of how high he was.
He stayed crouched for a minute longer, gripping the edge without moving. Eyes narrowed. Silent.
After a quick rest, he stood again.
He placed his hand on the stone ceiling above and focused. The rock groaned, resisted—but gave way under his will. Slowly. Bit by bit. A tight tunnel formed, barely wide enough, carving a path back toward the surface.
It felt like forever.
Dust clung to his coat. His hands scraped against rough edges more than once. But he didn't stop. He kept going, pulling himself through the stone channel until finally—
Light.
Not glowing moss, not pulsing crystal—real sunlight.
He stepped out onto the surface.
The wind greeted him first. Cold, clean, sharp. He was standing atop one of the mountains surrounding Menystria, the city far below, still as ancient and strange as ever.
Peaceful.
Just like the cavern below.
Just like her—that strange woman with the quiet voice, who smiled even when he was cold, even when he didn't deserve it.
He stood there for a moment, silent.
Then, almost unconsciously, Noah smiled.