(Beneath the Surface)
Pryan was awake before sunrise again.
This time the room looked worse for it.
One chair had been pushed aside. The carpet near the center had folded from repeated movement. Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, and the dagger in his left hand moved with noticeably less certainty than the sword in his right.
He adjusted his footing.
Turned.
Too slow.
The dagger caught awkwardly against his own wrist guard.
Pryan clicked his tongue softly.
"…Again."
He reset.
Sword forward.
Dagger tighter this time.
Short movement.
Step.
Turn—
The transition still felt wrong.
Not impossible.
Wrong.
Like his body understood what he wanted but refused to agree with the order of it.
"You're trying to force two habits into one motion."
The voice came calmly from the doorway.
Pryan stopped immediately and looked over.
The butler stood there holding a folded breakfast cloth over one arm, expression unchanged as always.
"I knocked," he said before Pryan could speak.
"You did."
"You ignored it."
"…I did."
The butler stepped inside, gaze moving briefly over the weapons.
"Too much attention on the sword," he said. "Not enough on the hand that survives."
Pryan lowered the dagger slightly.
"You know how to use them."
It wasn't a question.
The butler's expression shifted just enough to almost resemble amusement.
"I've lived long enough to know many inconvenient things."
Pryan nodded once.
Fair.
The older man stepped closer and gestured toward the dagger.
"You're holding it like a second sword."
"It isn't?"
"It's a problem-solving tool."
Pryan looked at the blade again.
The butler continued.
"Long blades dominate space," he said calmly. "Short blades survive inside it."
That line stayed with Pryan immediately.
The butler reached out.
"Again."
Pryan moved.
This time the butler stopped him halfway through the motion by lightly pressing two fingers against Pryan's wrist.
"Too wide."
Pryan adjusted.
Again.
"Too committed."
Again.
"Better."
The corrections weren't harsh.
They were precise.
Almost annoyingly precise.
After several exchanges, Pryan finally managed a clean transition between sword and dagger without breaking his balance.
The butler nodded once.
"There."
Pryan exhaled quietly.
"…Thank you."
The butler studied him for a second longer.
"You fought recently."
Pryan's eyes lifted slightly.
"Why?"
"You're compensating," the man replied. "People only do that after they lose something."
A small silence followed.
Pryan didn't answer directly.
The butler didn't push further.
Instead, he stepped back toward the door.
"Breakfast is ready," he said. Then paused.
"And Master Pryan."
Pryan looked up.
"Don't survive alone if you can avoid it."
Then he left.
Pryan stood still for a moment after the door closed.
Then looked down at the dagger again.
"…Survive inside it," he murmured.
By late morning, the city had fully awakened.
Mireya walked beside him through the market streets with far more ease than Pryan ever would. She greeted people occasionally, ignored others deliberately, and somehow navigated crowds without slowing once.
Pryan noticed she subtly moved people without touching them.
A step here.
A glance there.
Tiny social adjustments.
"You do that intentionally," Pryan said.
"What?"
"The crowd movement."
Mireya blinked once.
Then smirked slightly.
"You really do observe everything."
"You didn't answer."
"Yes," she admitted. "Happy?"
"A little."
"That's the most emotional response I've heard from you all week."
Pryan ignored that.
Mostly because she wasn't entirely wrong.
They turned down a narrower street lined with older buildings.
Ahead, a fruit vendor loudly accused Lucien of trying to lower prices through psychological warfare.
"It's called negotiation," Lucien argued.
"You called my apples structurally disappointing!"
"They are!"
Nyra stood nearby pretending not to know him while quietly dying inside.
Jorn remained beside the stall like a paid bodyguard who regretted every decision leading to this moment.
Mireya looked at them.
"…I can't believe these people are our classmates."
"They're effective," Pryan said.
"That wasn't my concern."
As they passed, Pryan spoke without slowing.
"Tonight. Western shift."
Nyra nodded slightly.
Lucien looked offended. "You're all acting like secret organizations now."
"You are literally standing lookout," Nyra whispered.
"That's not the point."
They continued moving.
Further ahead, Aurelian crossed the street.
He didn't stop.
Didn't even fully turn toward them.
But his voice carried quietly enough.
"You're being watched."
Pryan's eyes sharpened slightly.
"You too?"
Aurelian nodded once.
"Less subtly now."
Then he continued walking.
Mireya watched him disappear into the crowd.
"…That sounded concerning."
"It was."
"You say everything like weather reports."
"It helps."
"No, it absolutely does not."
Elsewhere in the city, a man with dull brown hair and plain traveling clothes sat outside a tea stall reading a folded paper.
No one looked at him twice.
Which was exactly the point.
Kaien took another slow sip from the cup before setting it down.
The server nearby kept talking without realizing who sat in front of him.
"…heard another shipment vanished near the lower district."
"Mm."
"And those old maintenance tunnels still aren't sealed. Told my cousin they should've collapsed years ago."
Kaien's fingers paused lightly against the cup.
"Maintenance tunnels?" he asked casually.
The server shrugged.
"Old routes beneath the city. Nobles use newer systems now. Most people avoid the old ones."
"Why?"
The server snorted.
"Because people disappear down there."
Kaien smiled faintly.
"Reasonable."
Across another district, Aurelian turned sharply into a side alley.
His expression remained calm.
But his hand had already moved to his sword.
Three seconds later—
Footsteps followed.
Confirmed.
Aurelian stopped walking.
The man behind him slowed too late.
That was enough.
Aurelian moved instantly.
No hesitation.
No warning.
His blade flashed once, forcing the attacker backward before the second strike even came.
The attacker recovered quickly.
Faster than expected.
Short blade. Light armor. Trained.
Not academy level.
Still dangerous.
They exchanged blows in tight silence.
Aurelian fought differently than Pryan.
Direct.
Efficient.
Everything placed exactly where it needed to be.
The attacker tried to create distance.
Aurelian denied it immediately.
Steel clashed once more—
Then Aurelian's elbow struck the man's chest hard enough to send him into the wall.
The attacker staggered.
Aurelian stepped forward—
And stopped.
The man smiled beneath his mask.
Then bit down hard.
Blood spilled instantly.
Aurelian's eyes narrowed.
Poison.
The attacker collapsed before he could be restrained.
"…Annoying," Aurelian muttered quietly.
Then he noticed it.
Near the fallen man's wrist.
A marking.
Small.
Almost hidden beneath fabric.
A circular symbol intersected by branching lines.
Tunnel routes.
Aurelian's gaze sharpened.
Meanwhile, several districts away—
Pryan stopped walking.
Mireya almost walked into him.
"What now?"
Pryan's gaze shifted toward a narrow side street.
"…There."
"What?"
"The pattern."
Mireya frowned.
"I still don't know what that means."
Pryan was already moving.
Mireya sighed loudly and followed.
"Every time you say something mysterious, my life gets worse."
The side street narrowed further ahead.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
Then—
Guards stepped out.
Four of them.
Wrong posture.
Wrong spacing.
Wrong timing.
Pryan immediately reached for the dagger.
"Not real," he said quietly.
Mireya's expression changed instantly.
The fake guards moved.
Fast.
The first swung directly for Pryan's neck.
Pryan stepped inside the strike instead of backward.
The dagger moved awkwardly—
Still unfamiliar—
But enough.
He redirected the blade and slammed his shoulder into the attacker's chest.
Mireya's sword flashed beside him, clean and sharp.
Another attacker dropped immediately with a cry.
"Little warning next time!" she snapped.
"I identified them quickly."
"That's not the same thing!"
The third attacker lunged toward Mireya—
Pryan intercepted halfway.
Too slow.
The internal delay still existed.
The enemy blade grazed his side before Pryan's dagger struck across the attacker's wrist.
Pain flickered through Pryan's body.
Small.
Manageable.
Annoying.
The final attacker suddenly retreated backward—
Straight through a weakened stone barrier.
The wall cracked violently.
Then collapsed inward.
Dust exploded outward into the alley.
Silence followed.
Pryan looked toward the opening.
Darkness.
Stone stairs descending below the city.
Cold air drifting upward.
Mireya stared.
"…That was under the street?"
Pryan stepped closer slowly.
Then felt it.
The pattern.
Stronger.
Connected.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"…This is it."
Without waiting, he moved down the stairs.
"Pryan—"
He kept going.
Focused entirely on the flow beneath the city.
The tunnel widened deeper below.
Old stone.
Ancient supports.
Far larger than a smuggling route should have been.
Pryan moved quickly through the dark passages, attention fixed ahead.
The deeper he went—
The clearer the flow became.
Not random.
Structured.
Alive.
Then—
A second presence.
Behind him.
Pryan stopped immediately and turned.
Mireya stood several steps back, breathing slightly heavier, clearly irritated.
"You forgot I was behind you."
Pryan blinked once.
Then honestly:
"…Yes."
Mireya stared at him in disbelief.
"That's incredibly rude."
"…Sorry."
She folded her arms.
"You are impossible to investigate with."
Pryan looked deeper into the tunnel ahead.
"…Probably."
Then both of them stopped speaking.
Because somewhere far below—
Something moved.
Not one presence.
Several.
And the tunnel stretched far deeper into darkness than either of them expected.
This wasn't a hidden passage.
It was a network beneath the city.