For some, the future was something to look forward to, filled with possibilities, opportunities, and the promise of something greater than the lives they had known.
For others, the future was nothing more than another day they had to survive.
Deep beneath the surface, where sunlight had never touched the stone and the passage of time could only be measured by the exhaustion of those wandering through it, thousands of people continued living their lives. Some had come seeking opportunities that the world above refused to offer, while others had descended into the darkness because they had nowhere else to go.
Whatever their reasons, they had all found themselves in the same place.
And the underground was anything but quiet.
"Chatter. Chatter. Chatter."
Voices echoed through the underground passages, overlapping until individual conversations became nearly impossible to distinguish. Merchants called out prices, customers argued over the value of their purchases, and somewhere farther down the passage, a man was shouting at someone who had apparently tried to leave without paying. The noise traveled along the stone walls, mixing with the constant shuffling of feet and the occasional clatter of objects being dropped onto the ground. There were so many people talking at once that the underground seemed to possess a voice of its own, one that never stopped speaking, no matter how many people came or went.
Through the crowded passage walked four hooded figures, their heads lowered and their bodies concealed beneath long, worn cloaks. They moved close together, occasionally brushing shoulders as they slipped between the people gathered around the stalls. Under ordinary circumstances, four individuals hiding their faces so deliberately would have attracted considerable attention, especially when one of them walked with a noticeable limp and another seemed to be struggling simply to remain upright.
Yet surprisingly, not a single person appeared interested in them.
If anything, they were among the least suspicious people in the passage.
Nearly everyone around them wore something similar.
Brown and gray rags covered faces, heads, and bodies, leaving little more than narrow openings through which people could see. Some wore scarves wrapped several times around their mouths, while others had pieces of cloth hanging loosely from their hoods. A few concealed themselves behind crude wooden masks, and others made no effort to disguise the weapons hanging from their waists. No one seemed particularly concerned with what another person looked like, so long as they kept their hands to themselves and had something worth exchanging.
The stalls themselves were hardly stalls at all. Most consisted of nothing more than old blankets or stained pieces of cloth spread across the uneven stone floor, with goods arranged upon them in whatever manner the sellers found convenient. Rusted weapons lay beside polished blades, small bottles filled with strange liquids were displayed in wooden crates, and several merchants offered bundles of dried plants that had been wrapped so tightly their contents were impossible to identify. One man sat behind a collection of broken ornaments and jewelry, carefully examining a ring that a customer had handed him. Farther down, a woman was arguing over the price of several sealed containers, refusing to explain what was inside them until the buyer produced enough coin.
There were no signs displaying the names of shops, no guards inspecting merchandise, and certainly no officials collecting taxes. Everything was sold quietly, exchanged quickly, and hidden just as easily. People arrived through one tunnel and disappeared through another, some carrying sacks that clinked as they walked, others dragging wooden carts whose wheels rattled against the stone. A few passages were so narrow that only one person could enter at a time, yet people continued filtering through them without hesitation.
The four figures passed a merchant selling small daggers from beneath a stained blanket. The man briefly looked up at them, his eyes lingering on the figure who walked with difficulty, before returning his attention to a customer examining one of his blades.
A rough cough escaped from beneath one of the hoods.
The figure stumbled slightly, pressing a hand against their chest as another cough followed, deeper and more painful than the first. Their shoulders shook beneath the cloak, and for a moment, it seemed as though their legs might give way entirely.
The figure walking beside them immediately reached out, catching their arm before they could fall.
"Just a little more," a woman's voice whispered. "We're almost through. Can you keep walking?"
The coughing figure gave a faint nod, although the movement seemed to require more effort than it should have.
"Good. Stay close to me."
They continued forward.
The figure at the front never looked back, though their pace slowed enough for the others to keep up. They passed beneath a low stone archway where water dripped steadily from the ceiling, forming shallow puddles that reflected the weak light of the lanterns hanging along the walls. The passage gradually narrowed, forcing them into a single line as merchants and customers pressed against one another to make room.
Without warning, the leading figure turned sharply to the right.
The other three followed almost immediately, disappearing into a side passage that was considerably quieter than the one they had just left. The noise of the market remained behind them, muffled by the thick stone walls, although the voices never completely faded. After several turns, the passage widened, and a different collection of sounds began to reach them.
The clattering of bowls.
The scraping of chairs.
The sizzling of something cooking over an open flame.
They emerged into a large underground chamber filled with tables, benches, and makeshift food stalls. Unlike the market they had passed through, the people gathered here seemed less concerned with selling hidden merchandise and more interested in finding somewhere to sit. Merchants stood behind wooden counters serving bowls of steaming broth, skewered meat, and rough loaves of bread. Others had arranged cooking pots directly over small fires, their smoke rising toward openings cut into the stone ceiling.
The smell was overwhelming after so long in the tunnels. Warm broth, roasted meat, burning wood, and damp clothing mingled together beneath the low ceiling. People sat shoulder to shoulder at crowded tables, eating hurriedly before returning to the passages beyond. Even here, most kept their hoods drawn and their faces covered, pulling their scarves down only long enough to eat or drink.
The leading figure surveyed the chamber before moving toward a small table near one of the walls.
It was old and uneven, with one leg shorter than the others and a surface covered in scratches. Four little wooden chairs surrounded it, none of which looked particularly sturdy. The figure tested one with a hand before sitting, while the others slowly gathered around.
The coughing figure lowered themselves into a chair with considerable difficulty, gripping the edge of the table until the trembling in their arms subsided.
Only then did the figure who had led them through the tunnels pull back his hood slightly.
It was Myers.
He looked toward the hunched figure before turning to the woman seated beside him.
"We need to find somewhere to stay," he said quietly. "Rheo isn't going to last much longer if we keep pushing him like this. He's barely been able to walk for the past few hours, and I don't think another night in these tunnels is going to do him any good."
Morgan adjusted the cloth covering her face, keeping her voice low enough that the surrounding tables wouldn't hear.
"Our old place is compromised, so we can't go back there, right?"
"Correct," Myers replied. "They know where you were staying, and I wouldn't be surprised if they're still looking for you down here."
Morgan's fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
"Then where exactly are we supposed to go? We've been moving from one passage to another for days, and Rheo can barely keep his eyes open. Seventeen isn't doing much better, either. We can't just keep walking until someone collapses."
"I know."
"Then we need an actual place, Myers. Somewhere with a bed, water, and a door we can close without worrying about someone coming through it in the middle of the night."
Myers rested his elbows against the table.
"That's what I'm trying to arrange. We need somewhere they've never associated with you, somewhere they wouldn't think to search even if they knew we'd come through the underground."
Morgan studied him.
"You have somewhere in mind?"
"Possibly. But I need to speak with someone first."
"Someone you trust?"
Myers hesitated.
"Someone who owes me a favor."
Morgan didn't look particularly reassured.
"That's not the same thing."
"No," Myers agreed. "It isn't. But it's what we have."
He rose from his chair, adjusting his hood until his face disappeared beneath the cloth once more.
"Stay here. Don't wander off, don't draw attention to yourselves, and try to get Rheo something warm to drink. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Morgan looked up at him.
"How long?"
"I don't know. Hopefully not long enough for you to start looking for me."
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
Myers glanced toward the other two figures, his gaze lingering briefly on Seventeen, who had remained silent since they entered the chamber.
"Keep an eye on each other."
Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
For a while, the three remaining figures said nothing.
The surrounding chatter continued without interruption. A merchant shouted that his broth was nearly finished, someone laughed loudly from a nearby table, and two men began arguing over whether one had taken the other's seat. A wooden bowl struck the floor, followed by a string of curses as its owner scrambled to retrieve it.
None of the noise seemed to reach Morgan.
She sat with her arms crossed, staring toward the passage where Myers had disappeared. Occasionally, she glanced toward the entrance, watching the people who came and went, but her attention always returned to Rheo.
Another cough shook his body.
Morgan immediately turned toward him.
"Rheo?"
He kept his head lowered.
"Are you okay?"
A faint groan escaped from beneath his hood.
"It hurts," he whispered.
Morgan leaned closer.
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
He shifted in his chair, trying to find a position that didn't make him wince. His hands rested against his stomach, and even through the loose fabric of his cloak, Morgan could see how heavily he was breathing.
"I don't know how much longer I can keep walking," he admitted.
His gaze slowly lowered toward his leg.
The bandages wrapped around it had become dirty and worn from the constant traveling, and despite the layers of cloth, the swelling beneath them was obvious. Several reddish patches had begun appearing along the exposed portions of his skin, particularly around the areas where Myers had previously healed his injuries. Although the wounds themselves had closed, his leg still looked painfully swollen, the skin stretched tightly around the damaged areas.
Rheo carefully shifted his leg beneath the table.
He winced.
"Every time I put weight on it, it hurts. Even when I'm sitting down, it doesn't stop." He stared at the bandages for a moment before continuing. "I thought it was supposed to get better after Myers healed it."
Morgan's expression tightened.
"Then don't push yourself. Just sit here for now. Myers is going to find us somewhere to stay, and once he does, you won't have to keep walking like this."
Rheo slowly shook his head.
"You've been saying that since yesterday."
"I know."
"And the day before."
Morgan fell silent.
Rheo raised his head just enough for her to see his eyes beneath the hood.
"What if he doesn't find anywhere?"
"He will."
"How do you know?"
"Because he's Myers."
Rheo gave a weak, humorless laugh that quickly turned into another cough. Morgan reached out and steadied him, waiting until the coughing subsided before speaking again.
"Listen to me. Just one more day, all right? That's all I'm asking. Myers is going to find us somewhere to stay, and once he does, you won't have to keep dragging yourself through these tunnels. I'll make sure you have somewhere comfortable to sleep, something warm to eat, and enough time to rest without worrying about having to get up and start walking again."
Rheo stared at the table.
"You promise?"
Morgan hesitated for only a moment.
"I promise."
He nodded faintly, although his shoulders remained hunched and his hands continued trembling against his knees.
Morgan kept one hand resting on his back.
Neither of them noticed that the third figure had barely moved since sitting down.
Seventeen sat quietly at the edge of the table, his hood drawn low over his face as he watched the people moving through the chamber.
He had been doing that ever since they entered the underground market.
Watching.
Listening.
Trying to understand where they were.
Every few moments, someone would pass close enough that their cloak brushed against his chair. Others lingered near the surrounding stalls, exchanging coins and whispered words before disappearing into the passages. Seventeen couldn't tell whether any of them were watching the group, and the fact that nearly everyone concealed their faces only made it more difficult.
He found himself studying their movements, wondering whether the same people had passed them earlier or whether he was simply beginning to mistake one hooded stranger for another.
There were too many.
Too many voices, too many footsteps, and too many people whose faces he couldn't see.
I'm going to die down here.
The thought came so naturally that he almost failed to notice it.
He shifted slightly in his chair, immediately regretting the movement as pain spread through his chest and shoulders. His body had been hurting since the moment they escaped, but the constant walking had turned what had once been sharp, distinct pains into a single exhausting ache that seemed to follow him everywhere.
He could no longer remember when they had last stopped long enough to sleep properly.
Had it been two days?
Three?
He wasn't sure anymore.
They had walked through passage after passage, sometimes stopping in dark corners where Morgan would let Rheo rest against her shoulder, only for Myers to return and tell them they needed to move again. Seventeen remembered climbing narrow stairways, squeezing through openings barely wide enough for his shoulders, and stumbling across uneven stone floors that seemed determined to catch his feet whenever he stopped paying attention.
There had been moments when he thought they were finally leaving the underground, when a passage would begin sloping upward and the air would change just enough to make him hopeful.
But each time, they descended again.
Deeper into the darkness.
Deeper into the cold.
The air down here was stale and freezing, carrying the damp smell of stone, stagnant water, and countless bodies moving through passages that had never been meant to hold so many people. It slipped beneath his cloak and through the enormous hole still torn across his shirt, brushing against the bruised skin of his chest whenever he moved. His shoes offered little protection from the cold floor, and the thin fabric around his legs did almost nothing to stop the chill that followed him through the tunnels.
He hated how familiar it felt.
After everything that had happened, after finally climbing out of the darkness and feeling the warmth of the world above, he had somehow ended up right back where he started.
He remembered the sunlight.
Not clearly enough to recall the exact day, or even what he had been looking at when he felt it, but he remembered the warmth against his skin. The way the air had seemed different aboveground, how it moved freely instead of pressing against him from every direction. Even the simple act of standing somewhere without stone hanging over his head had felt strange at first.
He hadn't realized how much he wanted that feeling until it was gone.
Now the memory seemed almost cruel.
Like a piece of candy held just beyond the reach of a starving child, close enough to see and imagine tasting, but pulled away whenever his fingers came near it.
For a little while, he had been allowed to believe that he might finally escape the cold.
And then he had been dragged back into it.
Seventeen lowered his gaze toward the table.
The freezing air continued slipping through the tear in his shirt, touching the exposed skin beneath his cloak. Every time he breathed, he could feel it entering his lungs, cold enough to make his chest tighten. Every time he shifted, the fabric scraped against wounds that had barely begun to heal.
It was almost as though the underground had been waiting for him.
Waiting patiently while he stumbled through the world above, allowing him just enough time to experience something better before reminding him that none of it had ever belonged to him.
The darkness, the cold stone, the damp air that clung to his skin.
They were all still here.
And now, as he sat surrounded by strangers whose faces he couldn't see, listening to the endless chatter of people who seemed perfectly comfortable living beneath the earth, Seventeen couldn't shake the feeling that the underground itself was mocking him.
You really thought you could leave?
He pulled his cloak tighter around his body.
This is where you belong.