The Pits stirred like a nest of restless vermin—pipes rattling, chimneys coughing, and the shuffle of too many feet grinding against broken stone. Jyoti slipped into the stream of bodies as though she had always been part of it, even when she moved against the current. Her eyes tracked exits, shadows, and loose straps on bags. Her hands twitched, restless, like they had their own brains.
A man spat on the ground near her toes. She side-stepped without looking at him. Rule one: never lock eyes unless you're ready to fight. Rule two: if you have to fight, finish fast. Rule three? Don't fight when you can vanish. She was best at rule three.
Her stomach rumbled. Loud enough to be rude. She patted it. "Patience, it is...!."
No one answered, but a woman glared at her as if she'd spoken to a ghost. Jyoti smirked, vanishing sideways into a gap between two leaning walls. The passage smelled like boiled rats, which meant food was near. Rats always knew where the scraps fell.
The Pits weren't streets and houses—they were cages stacked inside caves. Residential blocks pressed against each other, each ruled by a local boss who decided whether water dripped your way or got rerouted to someone richer in bruises. Above them loomed the Faith Cathedral, its bells tolling five times a day. Jyoti had never been inside. Maya had warned her away. And though curiosity gnawed at her, she trusted Maya more than she trusted her own hunger.
A group of kids blocked the next corner, tossing a bone between them like it was a ball. The bone still had meat on it. Their eyes flicked to her, a mean look.
Jyoti grinned, crouched low, and let a pebble roll from her palm. It clattered behind them. They turned, snarling, teeth bared. She was already gone, slipping past with a wink at the smallest one, who almost laughed. Almost.
The trick to the Pits wasn't strength. It was timing. The whole place was a living clock, ticking with fights, meals, and power shifts. You had to know when to be a shadow and when to be flame. Jyoti could do both, though shadows were safer.
She climbed a rusted ladder, boots sliding but grip steady. From above, the Pits looked worse—like an anthill built by drunk gods. Smoke curled through cracks, voices echoed in layers, and the ceiling lights buzzed with sickly flickers. No sky. Never sky.
Her gaze drifted to the Cathedral spire, black stone rising like a finger pointing nowhere. Its chimes rang, a hollow sound that made her teeth ache. She rubbed her ear and muttered, "One day, old crow, I'll peek inside. Just to see what's worth all that noise."
But not today. Today was survival, and survival meant food.
She dropped down the far side, landing silent, heart quick. A man cursed as she brushed past, but she was already three steps away, weaving into another alley. The maze bent to her when she moved like this. It was her stage, her game.
Her stomach growled again. Louder this time. "Fine, fine. I'll steal you something shiny."
The Pits laughed around her—screams, bargains, curses—all melting into one steady song. To most, it was hell. To Jyoti, it was home turf. And today, she intended to win the rat's game.