The morning light never reached this far below the earth, yet Domina Noctis had its own dawn — a rhythm of power and breath, a slow awakening that rippled through the black veins of the underground world. The torchstones flickered to life one by one, purple luminescence running down the streets like veins of a slumbering god. The city itself breathed.
From the highest balcony of the Citadel of Shadows, Sora stood still, his cloak whispering against the cold wind of mana that drifted through the cavern. Below him sprawled the city that should not have existed — domes carved from obsidian, bridges of lightstone, canals flowing with glowing mist instead of water.
Sora"…It's growing," he muttered. "Faster than I expected."
A soft voice answered, precise and calm.
Noiré"That's because you've been working without rest, Master."
Noiré stepped forward, scrolls floating at her side, eyes glowing faintly violet.
Noiré "Even shadows need to rest sometime."
Sora's lips curved slightly. "Rest is for those who've found peace. I'm still looking for mine."
Noiré sighed, setting the scrolls on a crystalline table nearby.
Noiré "Then you'll never find it if you collapse before the city does."
Before he could respond, Umbra appeared behind her — literally stepping out of her shadow with a playful yawn.
Umbra "Told you, Noiré. He won't sleep. He'd probably build a second Domina Noctis in his dreams if we let him."
Sora"Wouldn't be the worst idea,"
Sora said dryly, not even turning around.
Sora"Maybe one that talks less."
Umbra gasped in mock betrayal.
"Unbelievable! After I saved your sorry cloak from collapsing tunnels!"
Noiré adjusted her glasses. "You caused those tunnels to collapse because you overcharged the leyline."
Umbra "Technicalities,"
Umbra said, waving a hand.
Sora exhaled, half a laugh, half a sigh. The exchange reminded him that even in the depths of darkness, life still found a way to argue, tease, and live.
Then Grave arrived — the sound of his heavy steps echoing like distant thunder. His granite-like arms were covered in runic dust.
Grave "Master,"
he said in his deep monotone,
Grave "the lower caverns have been fortified. The settlers request more supplies for the north quarter — preferably food, not stones."
Sora nodded. "Take from the reserves in Vault-3. And tell them to use the fungal seeds Seraphine sent before she left."
Grave's head tilted slightly. "The white spores?"
"Yes. They grow fast in the dark. They'll feed hundreds."
Umbra blinked. "So… mushrooms. You're turning us into a city of glowing mushroom farmers."
Sora's tone was even. "Survival first. Pride later."
She grinned. "He says that but still wears a cloak that looks like it costs a kingdom."
"It's enchanted," Noiré said, ever defensive. "And regal presentation stabilizes morale among the settlers."
"Ah yes," Umbra nodded sagely. "The 'morale' of staring at our brooding king and wondering if he's about to vaporize them."
Sora rubbed his temple. "Umbra, remind me to vaporize you next meeting."
Grave grunted approvingly. "Permission to assist."
"Denied," Sora said, smirking.
The moment of levity faded as a group of settlers approached through the great hall — a fox kin merchant, a young elf scholar, and a human craftsman. They knelt as they presented a basket of withered soil.
"Lord Sora," said the elf nervously, "the crops in the lower caverns are dying. The soil rejects the light crystals."
Sora walked toward them. He knelt, scooping a handful of the dirt into his palm. The texture was dry, lifeless.
"Darkness does not reject life," he murmured. "It simply needs a different kind of light."
He placed his other hand above the soil. A pale, silver glow spread from his fingertips — calm and quiet, like moonlight breathing into the earth. When he released it, the soil shimmered faintly, and sprouts began to rise, slow but steady.
The settlers gasped.
Sora stood, dusting his hands. "It's not light that gives life… it's will. Now go. Replant. Let this soil learn our rhythm."
The settlers bowed low. "Yes, my lord!"
As they left, Dorte's voice echoed from the hall. "Still playing the benevolent god, huh?"
Sora didn't turn. "Only when my people need a miracle."
Dorte entered, his boots echoing softly. His usual grin was there, but behind it, his eyes carried understanding. "You've done more in weeks than most kings do in lifetimes. But you know what's coming, don't you?"
"The world above," Sora replied simply. "They'll notice the mana disturbance soon."
Umbra leaned against a column. "Oh, I can already hear the panic. 'There's a city of demons beneath our feet!'"
Noiré nodded grimly. "And they'll send their armies before their messengers."
Sora turned toward the glowing horizon — the artificial dawn of Domina Noctis. "Let them come," he said quietly. "Every shadow they fear will only grow stronger beneath their light."
Dorte crossed his arms. "Still the poet, I see."
Sora smirked faintly. "Still the jester, I see."
"Touché," Dorte chuckled.
A faint tremor rippled beneath their feet — not violent, but enough to make the torchstones flicker. Grave's eyes narrowed. "The leyline shifts again. Something approaches from above."
Sora didn't move. He simply raised his hand — and the shadows behind him stirred, forming a wall of tendrils that coiled around the throne like serpents preparing for war.
"Then this dawn," he said, voice low and resolute, "marks the beginning of our vigilance. Domina Noctis will not fall. Not to kings, not to gods, not to fate."
Umbra's grin returned — fierce, loyal. "Now that's my King."
Noiré bowed her head. "We'll stand with you until the end."
And for a rare moment, the Shadow King smiled — tired, but proud.
Outside, the subterranean sky brightened, not with sunlight but with mana, as if the city itself acknowledged his vow.
In the depths of the Veil, where the world's forgotten hopes gathered like dust, a new empire breathed — one born not of light, but of will, and the stubbornness to live where even gods had turned their eyes away.