There were no elders in this place. To live past fifteen was already a struggle against death itself.
Here, mercy had no meaning. Only selfishness endured.
The only warmth came from the faint glow of minerals clinging to the stone, seeping into the damp and musty air. That dim light was the closest thing to comfort The Depths would allow.
This was no sanctuary. It was a pit of torment. A home—and a grave—for the forgotten.
There were never many people here.
Now, only one remained.
Pialus—the last boy still breathing in this forsaken pit.
Warmth was rare, even in stories. Bonds were fragile, stolen by hunger and toil. Yet when death came, sorrow still lingered.
And now, it was his turn to bear it.
The last boy, forced to bury the body of someone whose face had been with him since the first of his memories.
"Sleep well, my friend."
Pialus whispered to the lifeless body, his voice rough in the still air. With hands trembling from both fatigue and grief, he covered it with the pale soil of The Depths.
He didn't know where to go.
But he remembered the story—whispered, passed from one dying breath to another. A tale of the world above. A place where light shone without end, where warmth touched the skin, where food was not a dream but a promise.
Yet in his chest, he knew.
It was only a story.
But even if it was only a story, he wanted to believe it was real.
There was nothing left for him here. No reason to stay in this hollow of stone and silence.
No one to stay for.
I'm not afraid of death anymore, Pialus thought.
The idea no longer stung. Death had always been close—closer than light, closer than hope. Down here, it was the only companion that never left.
But if that was true, then what did he have to fear?
"Goodbye," Pialus whispered. "I will cross the sea… just as you always wanted."
It was the last thing he spoke to the lifeless body of his only friend.
Then he took hold of a branch, rough in his hands, and stepped into a crude rowboat. His back bent, his arms moved.
No one had ever crossed this sea before.
It stretched endlessly before him, a vast expanse not of water, but of black liquid—thick and unnatural.
Pialus gagged, forcing the words out between clenched teeth.
"Still better than shit."
Black foam bubbled on the surface of the sea. Each burst pushed a foul stench into his nose, burning as he breathed. The reek coated his throat, bitter and heavy. He swallowed hard, jaw tight, fighting the urge to retch.
After what felt like an endless journey across the strange ocean, Pialus's arms ached and his breaths came ragged.
Then—far ahead—something broke the horizon. A shape, faint, blurred by shifting mist.
His eyes widened. A whisper slipped from his lips.
"Is that… the shore?"
Joy flared in his chest, raw and sudden. For a moment, he thought he had reached it—the place his only friend had longed for.
He poured every ounce of strength into the rotten stick, forcing the boat forward, chasing the faint outline of a shore. His heart hammered with hope.
But as he drew closer, the shape thinned… dissolved… swallowed by the shifting mist.
There was nothing. Only the endless stretch of black sea, devouring his strength, mocking his hope.
"You son of a bitch!"
Pialus roared. His voice tore through the still air, echoing over the strange sea until the black horizon swallowed it whole.
Then came another sound—his stomach, hollow and merciless, growling in the silence. Hunger gnawed at him like teeth.
He shut his eyes, and the image of his friend's face surfaced. It steadied him, even as his body screamed.
With a sharp breath, he grit his teeth, tightened his grip on the rough branch, and forced the rotten boat onward—drifting aimlessly across the endless black.
He didn't know how much time had passed.
All he knew was the motion of his hands—rowing, again and again—long after his strength should have failed.
Endlessly, until the last of his energy bled away.
"I'm sorry…" Pialus whispered, his voice barely louder than the black water below.
He couldn't fulfill his friend's dream. All he could do was drift—aimless, lost in an endless expanse where every direction looked the same. The horizon never changed. The way back no longer existed.
His grip tightened on the branch, the bitter truth sinking into his chest.
He would die here, in the middle of this sea.
Suddenly, the sea moved.
The black surface rippled—slow at first. Then faster. Something vast was stirring beneath.
Pialus's breath caught. He scanned the horizon. His heart lurched.
A wall of black water was rising. Taller than the boat. Taller than anything he had ever seen.
Am I going to die? The thought flared sharp and cold.
The wave crashed down. The rotten boat shattered.
The wave swallowed him whole.
Cold crushed in from every side, dragging him down into the black. His arms flailed, his chest burned, and then—nothing. Only silence. Only weightless dark.
It felt endless. Time slipped away. He couldn't tell if he was sinking or floating, if his body was breaking apart or being carried somewhere unseen.
And then—stone.
His back slammed into it, hard and unyielding. Breath tore into his lungs as he coughed, gasping for air. The sea was gone. The boat, gone. The endless horizon, gone.
When he forced his eyes open, rough stone stretched beneath him. The black water had vanished as though it had never been. Only the dark remained, heavy and familiar.
Ahead, a faint glow stirred in the gloom. Weak, but steady.
"Not red… not blue," he muttered, voice hoarse.
The color shimmered—strange, unfamiliar. Something his world had never allowed. Step by step, he walked toward it. The glow sharpened, casting long crooked shadows.
And there it was.
A lantern. Its frame battered, its glass cracked, yet it burned. That strange light bled through the cracks, trembling but alive.
With this… I can walk through the dark.
His hand closed around the lantern's cold frame. The metal bit into his skin, rough and sharp, but he didn't let go. He lifted it, and the shadows recoiled. For the first time, the dark was not absolute.
But with every flicker, the silence grew heavier… as if something unseen had noticed.
Even with the lantern in his hand, the darkness stretched without end. Still, Pialus walked. His friend's voice lingered in his mind—on the other side, there's hope, a world above, warm and bright.
The sound of that voice haunted him, fragile as it was, carrying him forward.
Until he froze.
Far ahead, a light flared. Brighter than anything he had ever seen. It wasn't the shimmer of his lantern, nor the dull glow of minerals. This light was alive. Piercing. Impossible.
His heart slammed against his ribs. His legs moved before he could think. He ran.
He ran until his lungs burned. And when the brilliance filled his vision, a wild, broken laugh escaped his throat.
"The sun… I finally found it!"
Before him loomed a colossal lantern, its frame towering into the dark. From within, a blue glow pulsed.
It wasn't the same as the small lantern in his hand, yet the resemblance struck him—like a spark grown into a star. As if the little flame had been leading him here all along.
To Pialus, this had to be the sun.
But nothing changed.
No food. No warmth. No voices.
Only silence.
The emptiness pressed down until he crumpled to the dirt. Tears blurred his vision. "Why…" he whispered.
The world shuddered.
A sound rose from the depths, deep and thunderous, rolling through the darkness like the growl of something ancient. It pressed against his eardrums, rattling his bones, until even the ground beneath him trembled in answer.
Though the sound seemed to echo from every direction, Pialus felt it—deep and steady, like a heartbeat buried in the dark. Each pulse tugged at him, drawing him closer.
His body trembled, every step a battle against exhaustion. Yet his mind clung to the thought that refused to die. Perhaps beyond that sound lay an answer. Perhaps it was the path his friend had spoken of—the way out, the world above.
So he moved. Step after step, teeth clenched, lantern swaying in his grasp. Guided by the echo, Pialus walked straight into the heart of the sound.
When he reached the source of the sound, his breath caught in his throat.
Before him loomed something unlike the hollow pits he had always known. Towering walls of stone rose high, so smooth and flawless that even the darkness could not stain them. Every curve and surface seemed carved with impossible care, as though shaped by hands far beyond his world.
It was beautiful—so beautiful that for a moment, he forgot the hunger gnawing at his chest.
Above, suspended within the frame of stone, hung a colossal shape. With every tremor that shook the air, it quivered and released that thunderous voice, each note reverberating through his bones.
In the middle of the chamber stood a box of stone, its surface unnaturally smooth against the jagged walls.
Inside, a skeleton lay in perfect stillness. White, brittle bones stacked neatly together, placed with a care he had never seen before.
Pialus froze. Skeletons were nothing new—he had seen bodies rot, watched flesh slough away until only bones were left behind. But this was not the same.
The dead here had not been abandoned in mud or buried beneath hurried soil. This one rested as though the silence itself was keeping watch.
For the first time, the chill crawling up his spine had nothing to do with the damp air.
Pialus froze, his gaze locked on the small box resting beside the skeleton.
"…What is that?" he whispered. His own voice sounded thin, swallowed by the cavern.
Something pulled at him—an urge he couldn't name. Against his will, his hand extended. Fingers brushed the surface.
Light burst from the small box. Golden, alive. It vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only shadows—and a voice.
It slid into his mind, low and resonant. Male. Young.
"How much time has passed?"
Pialus clutched the box, heart pounding. Pain split his head like clashing steel.
Then came the words, steady, edged with realization.
"You're not the Pathfinder."
The voice softened, like a hand on his shoulder.
"Calm down, little one. Where did you come from?"
Fear twisted in his chest. His breath broke into shallow bursts.
"How did you get here?" The tone was almost kind, too calm. "You don't look well. Have you eaten?"
The words struck him harder than hunger itself. His voice cracked as he shouted in his mind:
"Who are you?!"
Silence. Then, calm and certain:
"I am Aethias… of Pathfinder."
The name rang through his skull, heavy as stone.
"W-Where… did you come from?" Pialus whispered.
The young man's voice did not hesitate.
"I came from the Kingdom of Tundia. They sent me into The Depths… to explore. To chart what lay hidden here."
His chest tightened. His breath caught.
A kingdom. A world beyond these endless caverns.
The words settled into him like a truth too vast to hold.