Inside the Manor, not a single light was turned on.
The only illumination came from Evodil's eyes—twin black voids glowing faintly, two white dots inside each moving erratically, never quite looking where they should.
He paced.
Back and forth.
Fast.
Hands twitching. Shoulders stiff. His coat dragged against the floor behind him, tangled in shadow and memory.
He was shouting again.
Not to anyone. Not even to himself. Just… out.
"The White Palace," he growled. "The angles are wrong. The door was wrong. Her voice was the same. It's always the same. The corridor, the tea, the words—like I've lived it all before."
He turned.
Then again.
Faster this time.
"I've met her already. Jasper nearly died already. I already—already—"
He grabbed a mug off the shelf and hurled it across the room. It shattered against an old wall clock with a sound too sharp to be glass.
Evodil didn't flinch.
Didn't stop.
He pressed both hands into his hair, digging his fingers down to the scalp. Hard. Black essence spilled between the strands, oozing like ink, staining the silver white with veins of shadow.
"That thing—the fake manor. It did something. I don't know what. I don't—"
His voice caught in his throat.
He wasn't breathing heavily.
Just broken.
Fractured in motion.
And still… no one came.
Not James.
Not Noah.
Not even Jasper.
The manor stayed silent.
Even the stars outside the observatory were quiet—out of position, flickering like they knew something he didn't.
Evodil stared out the nearest window. Eyes glowing. Voice soft now.
"Not again," he whispered. "I already did this. I already lost it."
The black in his hair spread further.
Outside the Manor, past the edge of the shadowy city on its floating island, Caroline stood alone.
The air bit harder than usual—sharper, thinner. Maybe it was the hour. The cracked watch on her wrist said 4:03 AM. Not that it mattered. Menystria was always dark.
She rubbed her arms through her coat sleeves, breathing clouds into the chill.
Ahead stood the cable car.
It looked older than the buildings around it—navy blue metal faded to slate in places, white railing chipped with rust. No roof. Just a wraparound bench and a small open gap at the side for passengers.
If it could be called that.
There were no buttons. No console. No guide.
Just the car. Hanging by a thick line that descended into the abyss.
She hesitated for a moment, then stepped on.
It lurched softly. No warning. No hum of activation.
Just motion.
Her weight alone had triggered it.
Caroline grabbed the cold railing and eased into the seat, letting out a slow breath.
The city behind her shrank fast—buildings swallowed by mist, lights dimming into static memory. Even the distant glow of the Citadel's gate began to fade behind stone and fog.
She looked down.
Nothing.
Just black.
The car was silent as it descended, held only by a trembling line and whatever system powered this ancient thing.
Her thoughts drifted.
Underground District.
That's what they called it.
Jasper spoke of it like a joke—"darker than James's sense of humor." Evodil had barely said anything at all, just muttered that it belonged to Noah and Ariela now.
Not a city. Not anymore.
A human camping ground. Half-ruins, half-shelter. The place where the world's forgotten ended up.
And now she was going there.
Caroline sighed, leaning her head against the back rail.
Whatever waited below, it was too late to turn back now.
Time passed in silence.
Caroline wasn't sure how long it had been. Thirty minutes? Forty? She didn't check the watch again. It didn't feel like it was keeping time anymore—just looping numbers on a face that refused to move forward.
Eventually, she reached into her coat and pulled out the sandwich she had packed.
Bread. Something halfway between meat and cheese inside. She hadn't made it with love. Just necessity.
She took small bites.
One every few minutes.
Pacing it like it might need to last the whole trip.
Because by then, it was clear she wasn't even halfway.
The floating islands were long gone. The lights, the buildings, the voices—everything above had vanished into the ceiling of the crater. What remained was blackness, thick and absolute.
Her body was still in motion.
But her mind?
It had time to wander.
How big was this thing? she wondered. The crater? The city? No one gave her an answer when she asked. Maybe no one really knew. Maybe no one wanted to know.
Because questions like that came with answers that changed people.
Or broke them.
The cable creaked above her. A slow groan, as if stretching through dimensions.
Then—finally—something shifted.
A shape below.
Faint.
Colorless at first, then slowly blooming into deep, dark purple.
Stone.
The floor.
It shimmered faintly, almost reflective—like a black mirror shattered across miles. But the car didn't stop. It slid past the stone without hesitation, right through a massive open shaft cut into the earth beneath it.
Another hole.
Deeper still.
Caroline blinked, trying to see how far it went, but it was like staring into a mouth that didn't want to be seen.
The darkness swallowed everything.
Her hands, her breath, her thoughts.
And then—
A flicker.
Distant.
Far away.
Lamps.
Pale and flickering, dotting the far bottom like dying stars in a reverse sky.
Something was down there.
She wasn't alone anymore.
Caroline stood up from her seat, steadying herself as the car slowed.
The darkness around her thinned just enough to make out the ground. The lamps—those faint dots from before—were closer now, flickering gently in a scattered arc ahead.
The car hit the ground with a dull thud.
It shook. So did she.
Instinct pushed her forward.
She stepped off quickly, boots crunching against gravel as she exhaled sharply, a breath held too long. Solid ground. Rough, cold, and uneven—but solid. She could live with that.
Behind her, the cable car gave a soft creak and started moving again.
Back up.
She turned to watch it disappear, swallowed by the same endless shaft that had delivered her.
"…Great," she muttered. "Guess I'll worry about that later."
There were no signs. No welcome. No guards or checkpoints. Just a faint trail ahead, lit by lonely lamps on tall wooden posts. The lamps themselves were simple—iron cages housing weak bulbs, probably solar or rune-fed. They buzzed faintly, like they hadn't been touched in years.
Caroline adjusted her coat and moved forward.
The path was mostly gravel and loose sand. Cracked in places. Uneven. But it was a path. That was enough.
Nothing like the smooth blackstone roads up above. No divine craftsmanship. No neat geometry.
Just footsteps over earth.
She walked.
Soon, a hill rose ahead.
It wasn't steep, but it felt heavy—like it had weight beyond soil.
As she climbed, the landscape shifted.
Tree stumps.
Hundreds of them.
Some wide. Some cracked. All cut low and left behind. A whole forest, gone. Cleared. Forgotten.
But not lifeless.
Flowers bloomed between them.
Small ones. White. Blue. A few with pale pink petals shaped like stars. Growing from decay. Untamed.
Caroline slowed, watching the way the wind brushed the field, bending the stalks just enough to move the silence.
No footsteps but her own.
No voices.
She kept walking.
The hill leveled out slower than she expected.
It didn't feel like the top of a hill anymore.
More like the edge of something—a small mountain stretched thin across the cavern floor. But when she finally reached it, when she looked down into the space beyond…
She saw them.
People.
Humans.
Dozens of them scattered across a wide clearing tucked into the base of the hill. Some walked slowly between buildings. Others sat on benches or crates, resting, eating, talking in low voices. Many wore bandages. A few had crutches. But they were alive.
Not just surviving—living.
The buildings around the clearing were mismatched, thrown together from wood, rusted metal, and fractured concrete. Nothing was symmetrical. Nothing shined. But everything stood.
And more than that… everything was clean.
Caroline squinted.
No rubble.
No divine markings.
No broken statues or half-destroyed sanctuaries screaming about gods.
Just houses.
Built with purpose.
A woman stood outside one, hammering a loose plank back into place. Two kids sat nearby, eating something from a bowl and arguing over who got more.
Caroline walked past them as she entered the outer edge of the camp.
"Tell her we're out of salt," someone muttered nearby. "I don't care how smart he thinks he is, rock scrap isn't seasoning."
"He's just trying to help," another voice replied. "He lost a leg last week, let him have a delusion."
A young man limped across the path, nodding politely as he passed Caroline.
"Morning."
She returned it without thinking. "Morning."
Further in, a few people clustered around a fire pit, sharing a pot of something thick and yellow.
"Boiled roots again?" one asked.
"Better than the worms," another grunted. "At least this doesn't move."
Caroline kept walking.
In the distance, there was one building that stood out.
Set apart from the others. Wooden, but clean. Whole windows. Light spilling from a lantern above the door. A full roof. No visible patches or rust.
Not large.
But better.
It didn't take much to guess that was where the leader stayed.
The mayor. Or whatever they called it down here.
Caroline adjusted the strap on her shoulder and made her way toward it.
More voices trailed behind her.
"They say he came back from the cavern wall last week. With metal growing out of his spine."
"Shut up. That's just one of the Shades acting weird again."
"I'm telling you, that wasn't a Shade."
The rumors faded as she stepped closer to the door.
Caroline stood in front of the house, staring at the door like it might judge her for knocking.
She hesitated.
Twice.
Raised her hand.
Lowered it.
Then finally, took a breath and knocked once—firm, but not too loud.
The sound echoed strangely. The kind of echo that made it clear how alone she still was, even surrounded by people.
Inside, everything went quiet.
A moment ago, there had been voices. Movement. The creak of floorboards. But now?
Silence.
She swallowed, unsure if she should knock again.
Before she could, a voice came from the other side of the door.
Low. Calm. Young—but worn down in a way youth wasn't supposed to be.
"Who is it?"
The tone wasn't aggressive. Just tired. Like it had been pulled from a book mid-sentence.
She cleared her throat. "Caroline. Human. Brought here by Jasper and—well, sort of by Evodil. I'm… looking for Noah."
A click followed. Not rushed. Just… deliberate.
The door opened.
Standing in the frame was a man.
Black hair, messy but shaped into a side part like he'd tried to look decent and got halfway there. Eye bags deep enough to cast shadows. Wire-framed glasses. Open black suit jacket over a green polo, the collar slightly folded. A strap on his arm held a sheathed knife—practical, not threatening.
His pants matched the coat—black, a little frayed at the edges. His boots were polished leather, or had been, now dulled and scuffed with dried dirt.
He looked her over.
Not with suspicion.
Just memory.
Recognition settled on his face like dust on glass.
"You were at the Citadel," he said. "The mortal."
Caroline nodded. "Yeah. That's me."
Noah blinked once, then stepped aside without ceremony.
"Come in."
Caroline stepped inside.
If she had expected anything orderly or divine, she abandoned those hopes at the door.
The place was a mess. Not filthy—but chaotic. Lived-in.
Cardboard boxes lined the far corner, half-crushed, half-forgotten. Metal scraps were stacked in crooked piles, some clearly mechanical, others probably theoretical. A few closed canisters gave off faint chemical smells she couldn't place—sharp, sour, and somehow dusty.
No kitchen. Just a small table covered in books, wiring, and something that looked suspiciously like a dismantled toaster mixed with bone. A couch sat beneath a large TV mounted on the wall—though its screen was cracked in the top right, and the frame looked like it had been glued back together more than once.
Two doors led to other rooms.
One probably a bathroom.
The other... who knew.
Noah sat down on the couch, elbows resting on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair and down to his chin, thumb tapping absently against his jaw.
"I remember you," he said slowly. "You were at the Citadel when… what was it…"
He squinted upward.
"The Jester and Anger Issues Incarnate were fighting."
Caroline blinked. "The—"
"And the drunk was narrating like it was a sports match," he added.
"Oh," she said. "Yes. That was me."
Noah smirked. Just barely.
A ghost of amusement pulled at his mouth like it didn't visit often.
Her surprise didn't go unnoticed. He seemed to take it as a compliment.
Then the smile faded.
"So," he asked, voice even again, "why are you here?"
Caroline stepped away from the center of the room and leaned gently against the wall.
She took a breath.
A long one.
The kind you take before saying something that might sound stupid even to yourself.
"Evodil told me," she began, "that you were the one to talk to. About… all of this."
She gestured loosely toward the ceiling. The walls. The floor. The entire strange world they stood in.
"The Underground. Menystria. The people here. The magic that runs through everything. I want to understand it."
Noah blinked, waiting.
Caroline continued, slower now. "I want to know how this place works, inside and out. Not just for me. When I go back to the human world—if I go back—I want to help calm people down. I want to give them real answers."
Noah tilted his head.
For a second, he just stared.
Then smirked.
Then laughed.
It wasn't cruel. Just honest.
"You think I'm the one with all the answers?" he said, pushing his glasses slightly up his nose. "Caroline, Evodil knows more about the magical theatrics of this world than I ever will."
She frowned.
He held up a hand.
"I know everything, sure. But I'm not the narrator. I'm not the wizard in the tower. I'm a dictionary. A glorified website. You want meaning? You go to someone who breaks things."
"Then why did he—"
"Because he's lazy," Noah said simply. "And chaotic. And probably wanted me to wake up before noon."
He paused.
"But I'll try," he added after a moment. "I'll tell you everything I know."
Their eyes met.
For a second, there was silence.
And then—
The door to the bathroom creaked open.
The bathroom door creaked open.
And out stepped Ariela.
Wrapped in a towel. Steam trailing from her skin like it was reluctant to leave.
Her hair, still damp, was a soft green—the same shade as the grass she was buried under, once. It clung in long strands to her shoulders and back. Her skin glowed faintly yellow, pale like sunlit parchment. She looked fresh. Clean. And completely out of place in a world made of rust and broken stone.
Caroline stared, blinking rapidly.
Of all the things she expected to come out of Noah's bathroom, this wasn't even in the top thousand.
Ariela caught the look immediately—and smiled.
"Oh, hi," she said cheerfully, waving with one hand while holding the towel up with the other. "You're from the Citadel, right? First day aboveground? When Evodil and James almost killed each other?"
Caroline nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's… me."
"Nice to see you again," Ariela said brightly. "That was my first day up top, too. Noah made me go out."
Noah, meanwhile, had curled into himself on the couch.
Not a casual lean.
Not an annoyed slouch.
A full, existential curl—knees up, face buried in one arm, the other hand gesturing vaguely at nothing.
Caroline raised an eyebrow. "Is he okay?"
Ariela walked over, still towel-wrapped, and knelt beside the couch. She touched his shoulder lightly.
He flinched.
Then sighed.
"I'm not… in a relationship," Noah mumbled, voice muffled into the fabric of his coat.
Caroline blinked.
Ariela smiled sweetly.
Then smacked him lightly on the back of the head.
He groaned.
Noah uncurls himself slowly, dragging in a breath through his nose and letting it out through slightly parted lips.
His pale cheeks were still touched with color—whether from embarrassment, proximity to Ariela, or both. She had sat down beside him, towel still snug, and casually took his hand like it belonged there.
Noah didn't comment.
He just looked up at Caroline, the tired clarity in his eyes finally returning.
"Alright," he said. "Ask."
Caroline didn't hesitate.
"What is this place?" she asked. "The Underground District. What is it, really?"
Noah scratched his chin. "Fell into it."
"You what?"
"Evodil and James were fighting," he said, waving a hand loosely. "Old fight. They collapsed half a block. I got caught in the rubble and landed down here."
Caroline blinked.
"That's how you discovered an entire underground civilization?"
Ariela leaned in. "It was always here," she said, her voice soft but steady. "Even before Noah found it. The caverns go on for almost 800 miles in every direction."
Caroline turned to her, eyes widening.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously," Ariela nodded. "Deep underground. But it's protected—somehow. No heat from the earth's core. No pressure collapse. It shouldn't be livable, but it is."
Noah added, "Even she doesn't know why. And she's the goddess of life."
Caroline let that sink in for a second. Then asked her next question.
"What are the systems of Menystria? The real systems? How this place works."
Noah sighed, but not dismissively.
"Alright. Four core systems," he began, shifting his tone into something closer to a lecture. "Currency. Weapons. Oaths. And belief."
He ticked each one off on a finger.
"Currency is obvious—Stains, Symbols, Marks, Sigils. That's your economy."
She nodded. "Got it."
"Weapons," he continued. "Also tiered. From mundane steel to god-sheathed relics. They grow stronger based on Oaths. Some are cursed. Some are divine. Some dream."
Ariela smiled faintly at that one.
Noah kept going.
"Then there's the Oath System. Mortals swear pacts with gods—binding contracts. The more Oaths, the more power… but also the more risk. Break one, and the magic turns against you."
"Glance levels too," Ariela added. "They measure how deep someone's gone. Ten is beginner. One means you can fight gods."
Caroline nodded slowly. "And the last system?"
"Belief," Noah said. "Reverse Oaths. Mortals draw strength from gods—but gods draw power from belief. The more Oath followers, the more control we have. Sometimes… a new domain awakens."
Caroline exhaled, her brain already racing to keep up.
Then came her final question.
"What's the White Palace?"
Ariela blinked.
"That's the first time I've heard that name," she admitted.
Noah's eyes narrowed slightly. "Evodil teleported us there during the war. Short moment. I remember the angles didn't make sense. Time didn't feel linear."
"And?" Caroline asked.
Noah reached into his coat, pulling out something small—a picture.
A picture of Evodil holding something, an old poker card, it had his face on it, black edges and purple colors instead of the usual red.
"This… might be tied to it. Joker card."
"You don't know?"
"I know enough to know I don't know," he said flatly.
Caroline nodded slowly, trying to wrap her head around the sheer weight of everything Noah had just unloaded.
The systems.
The weapons.
The oaths.
The palace.
It wasn't chaos—just a puzzle she hadn't realized was this large.
She looked up, still leaning against the wall. "So… what should I do now?"
Noah shrugged. "That's the nice thing about not being dead. Choice."
He leaned back on the couch, arms crossing loosely over his chest.
"You can go back home. Stay here. Poke around. Or… talk to the big man."
Caroline raised an eyebrow. "You mean James?"
Noah chuckled, raising a hand to his mouth.
"James? No. He's the boss man. Handles the paperwork, signs the city's guts into place. Bureaucracy incarnate. Stronger than me too, not gonna pretend otherwise."
He looked at her now, a little more serious.
"But Evodil?"
He shook his head.
"That's your first mistake. Judging him by the chaos."
Caroline frowned slightly.
Noah continued, voice quieter now.
"He plays the fool. Talks like a man who forgot sleep existed. But behind that jester mask is knowledge even I don't have. And a rage that James—the god of war—has never touched."
The words hung in the air for a second too long.
Caroline stood up, brushing her coat flat, then bowed slightly.
Noah groaned. "Don't do that."
She blinked. "What?"
"We are god, not monarchs," he muttered. "Act normal. Pretend we aren't carved into the bones of your cosmic rulebook."
Ariela leaned into him from the side, towel still clutched tight.
"You said we."
Noah exhaled through his nose. Loudly.
Caroline smiled despite herself, gave them both a small wave, and turned toward the door.
"Thanks," she said.
Then stepped out into the Underground's fading light.