The stairs spiraled downward far longer than Zhang Lu expected.
Each step groaned beneath his boots, the sound echoing like the brittle bones of an old man. Moisture slicked the stone beneath his feet, and the lantern's golden flame swayed in his grip, casting restless shadows across damp walls carved with half-erased runes.
These weren't decorative.
They were warnings.
Dust clung to his cape as the air thickened—less like forgotten paper now, more like the slow, uneven breath of a living city waiting above.
At last, the stairway ended.
A heavy wooden door blocked the way, iron-banded and swollen with age.
Anthony's memories surfaced instinctively.
*Third brick from the left. Hollow.*
Zhang Lu pressed his fingers against the stone. A faint click answered. He pulled, and somewhere inside the wall, old mechanisms shifted. The door groaned open, exhaling stale night air.
And then—
The city hit him.
Aetherport unfolded beyond the threshold in chaotic layers of light and shadow. Towering spires of white marble pierced a perpetual haze, their tips glowing faintly where embedded crystals fed the empire's arcane grid. Below, the streets pulsed with life: merchants shouting over one another, mechanical horses clanking past with carts of glowing vials, children chasing humming orbs that danced just out of reach.
Magic everywhere.
But not beauty.
Not down here.
Fog from the god-touched ruins clung to the mid-level streets like a funeral shroud. Coal smoke mixed with frying dough and something sharper—metallic. Blood, maybe. Or the lingering residue of spells that had gone wrong.
Zhang Lu drew his cape tighter, folding the lantern's glow beneath its fabric.
It didn't help.
People still glanced his way.
Too clean for the slums.
Too worn for the upper districts.
A man who didn't belong anywhere.
Beggar eyes followed him—hopeful, hollow. Their skin bore faint, iridescent scars: failed divine blessings. Anthony's memories whispered the term like a curse.
*Rejected.*
"No phone. No map," Zhang Lu thought grimly. "Just vibes and stolen instincts."
He let the memories guide him—downhill toward the river, around the market square, then into the tangled veins of the Lower Warrens.
His boots clicked unevenly against cobblestones as the city shifted around him.
Above, airships drifted lazily through the fog, sails embroidered with noble crests. Rune-lamps flickered alive as daylight faded, fueled by bottled essence siphoned from minor gods.
Vendors barked their wares:
"Fresh god-blessed apples! One bite wards off nightmares!"
"Relics from the old ruins! Guaranteed authentic—or your coin back!"
Scams. Almost all of them.
True power didn't sit on street stalls. It hid behind academy seals and Dark Castle iron.
White armor flashed ahead.
An Ivory Guard patrol marched through the crowd, halberds tipped with anti-magic crystals humming faintly. Their eyes swept the streets with practiced indifference.
Zhang Lu's pulse spiked.
He slipped into a side alley without thinking.
Anthony had graduated from their academy—on scholarship. Debt and family disgrace had barred him from service.
*Good,* Zhang Lu thought bitterly. *Those guys die last—and only for the villains.*
The alley narrowed, walls pressing close. Overflowing trash bins lined the sides, laundry sagged overhead like tired flags.
Then—
Whispers.
"…another disappearance last night."
"…words burned into the wall."
"…Everyone dies. Same as the others."
Zhang Lu froze.
Two cloaked figures leaned against the brickwork ahead, sharing a pipe that glowed faintly blue.
"The Dark Castle's offering a bounty now," one muttered. "For information on the *lantern bearer*."
The other snorted. "Prophecy crap. But coin's coin."
Zhang Lu backed into shadow, heart pounding.
*Lantern bearer.*
There was no mistaking it.
He moved faster, weaving through alleys until the voices dissolved into the city's endless murmur.
The Lower Warrens greeted him without mercy.
Buildings leaned together like drunks, roofs patched with mismatched tiles. Puddles reflected rune-lamps casting a sickly green sheen. Children played in the mud, tossing mock spells that sparked harmlessly. Adults hurried past with heads lowered, eyes carefully blank.
A body slammed into him.
Small. Fast.
A hand darted toward his inner pocket.
Zhang Lu reacted without thinking.
His free hand snapped out, catching the wrist mid-motion. He twisted—precise, controlled. A small knife clattered to the stones.
The boy hissed, hazel eyes wide beneath grime-streaked cheeks.
"Let go, you cursed noble!"
"I'm not—" Zhang Lu stopped himself and sighed. "Wrong target, kid."
He released the grip and nudged the knife away with his boot.
The boy snatched it up and bolted, vanishing with a muttered curse about *ghost-eyed bastards*.
Zhang Lu exhaled slowly.
Adrenaline sang through his veins.
*Not completely useless,* he noted. *Good to know.*
The tenement loomed ahead.
Five stories of rot and regret.
**Warrens Rest**, the sign proclaimed, paint peeling like dead skin. Laughter and clanging mugs spilled from the tavern below. Zhang Lu climbed the external stairs, avoiding the steps Anthony's memories flagged as unstable.
The door was ajar.
Light flickered inside.
"Orion?" he called softly.
The room was exactly as remembered.
Two narrow beds. A rickety table. A stubborn stove. Clothes strung across the ceiling.
On one bed sprawled a lanky teenager with messy blond hair, chewing on a half-loaf of bread far fresher than it had any right to be.
Orion froze, then grinned.
"Anthony! Thought the library ghosts finally ate you."
Zhang Lu shut the door and set the lantern down. Its flame dimmed obediently.
"Late research," he said. "You know me."
Orion tossed him the other half of the loaf. "Snagged it from the baker's discard bin. Still soft."
Zhang Lu caught it. Hunger roared. He tore off a bite.
Heaven.
"Any trouble?"
Orion shrugged. "Skipped the forge again. Master Grimsby was in a mood. Fixed the roof though. Mostly."
Lazy. Clever. Untapped.
Sixteen years old and sitting on dormant magic the novel would waste until tragedy forced it awake.
"You should've gone," Zhang Lu said gently. "We need the coin."
Orion rolled his eyes. "Easy for you to say, Mr. Academy Graduate."
Debt pressed in like a second room.
Varkis. Loan shark. Cult ties.
Zhang Lu leaned forward. "There's guild work. Low-rank. We take only safe jobs."
Orion blinked. "…You serious?"
"We start small."
Orion studied him. "You're different today."
Zhang Lu smiled thinly. "Ghosts inspired me."
They ate in silence. Tavern songs drifted up from below.
After a while, Orion yawned.
"Mom's anniversary's in a week."
The words struck deep.
Silver hair. Winter eyes. A whispered apology before vanishing.
"Yeah," Zhang Lu said quietly. "I know."
Orion pulled a folded letter from beneath his pillow.
"Found this in her things."
Zhang Lu accepted it carefully.
*To my sons, if the lantern finds you…*
"Tomorrow," he said. "We'll read it together."
Orion nodded and slept soon after.
When the room was quiet, Zhang Lu uncovered the lantern.
It brightened eagerly.
Light spilled outward—forming a translucent map. The Eastern Ruins pulsed faintly.
Then a voice—soft, familiar, impossible.
*The truth begins where everyone dies.*
Mother.
Words burned into the wall:
**EVERYONE DIES… UNLESS YOU LIGHT THE WAY.**
Zhang Lu extinguished the projection.
His path was chosen.
He lifted the lantern.
Somewhere, a bell tolled midnight.
And the mystery tightened its grip.