The sewers stank of mold and waste, a reek that clung to Kael's nostrils even though his eyes could not see the dark around him. The cobbled walkway beneath their boots was slick with moisture, and the water running alongside them gurgled with every step. The air was thick—oppressive—and Kael's grip on his staff tightened as though the shadows might leap up and strike at any moment.
Arinya moved quietly beside him, her voice a soft whisper echoing faintly through the tunnels. "We're beneath the old Merchant Quarter. Doran's contact swore this route was safe."
Doran, walking ahead with a flickering torch in hand, muttered, "He said mostly safe."
Kael turned his head slightly. "That's not the reassuring part."
"Would you rather face the city guards again?" Doran smirked over his shoulder.
"I'd rather not face anyone in a tunnel where I can't swing this properly," Kael said, lifting the staff slightly.
"Then let's hope the rats stay polite," Arinya added with a dry chuckle.
They trudged on, deeper into the underbelly of Iridale. The narrowness of the tunnel began to change, opening into a larger circular chamber lined with archways, half-submerged in ankle-high murky water. Faint light spilled in from grates far above, casting a lattice of pale patterns across the floor.
Kael suddenly paused. His staff tapped lightly against the stone, then twitched. "Something's… wrong. The current's shifted."
Doran scoffed, "You can feel the current?"
Kael nodded slowly. "And I hear breathing. Not ours."
That was all the warning they got.
From the water, figures burst forth—shadows wrapped in rotting cloth and armor. Hollow-eyed and snarling, the creatures lunged with warped blades and clawed hands. Undead.
"Back!" Kael barked, pushing Arinya behind him as his staff twirled into a defensive arc. He felt its weight—light but resolute—and with a swift motion, the end cracked against the skull of the first undead to reach him. Bone splintered.
Doran's torch went flying, and he drew his sword with a curse. "Necrofiends?! Here?!"
"No time for lectures!" Arinya shouted, her palm glowing. She swept her hand forward, a burst of pale azure light exploding from her fingers. The magic struck three fiends mid-charge, freezing them solid before shattering their forms into jagged crystal.
Kael ducked under a swipe, pivoted, and slammed the end of his staff into another fiend's chest. The relic burned hot in his hands, as though responding to the undead presence. With a sharp hum, energy flared—force erupting in a wave that sent two more reeling into the tunnel walls.
He felt it again—a flicker of memory, fast and violent.
Screaming. Smoke. His hands on a relic, but not this staff. A different weapon. A name shouted in pain. His?
Kael reeled. Arinya caught his arm. "Kael! Stay with me!"
"I… I'm fine," he muttered, shaking the image from his mind. The air crackled again as Arinya turned, her eyes narrowed and glowing with a quiet rage.
"You're not dying to sewer rats," she said. "Not yet."
Kael almost laughed, despite the chaos.
Within minutes, the fight ended. The chamber quieted, littered with shattered bone and glimmering residue of Arinya's magic. Doran wiped ichor from his blade and panted. "You two fight like you've been doing it for years together."
"Maybe we have," Kael muttered, voice low.
Arinya looked at him, startled.
He didn't elaborate.
They took a moment to rest beside the dry wall, torchlight casting long shadows behind them. Doran inspected a rusted plaque embedded in the wall nearby—one bearing the crest of an old guild: The Hollow Chain.
"This was a necromancer's old haunt, wasn't it?" he said grimly. "Figures we'd get jumped down here."
Kael ran a hand over the plaque. "What kind of city lets remnants like this rot underfoot?"
Arinya answered, her voice quieter. "The kind built on buried secrets. Iridale used to be divided between factions. Guilds, militias, mages, mercenaries. When the royal seat was restored, they pushed them underground—literally."
Doran snorted. "And we're walking through the grave of their grudges."
Kael stood. "Then we should move before they wake up more."
They continued, deeper through twisting tunnels, until the ground began to slope upward again. A heavy door barred their path—rusted, iron-bound. Doran pressed his ear to it.
"Quiet. Could be the way up."
Arinya stepped forward, her fingers glowing slightly. The lock melted in a hiss of magic, and the door creaked open—leading them into a wide cellar room stacked with old barrels and crates. A stairway rose in the corner.
Above them, they heard faint music and conversation.
They'd reached the underlevel of a tavern.
Arinya exhaled. "We're in. One level up, and we blend with the crowd."
Doran grinned. "And I could use a drink."
Kael hesitated, still listening. Then, softly, "Something's still wrong."
"What?" Arinya asked.
Kael tapped his staff lightly on the stone floor. "I don't know. I feel… watched."
Arinya turned to him, serious now. "Not by me."
His head tilted toward her, lips tugging faintly. "Are you sure?"
For a moment, her breath caught. Then she turned sharply. "You're incorrigible."
Kael's smirk was subtle, but it was there. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
Above the tavern, cloaked in shadow from a second-floor window, a figure lowered a spyglass and murmured into a whispering stone.
"He's here. The blind one. The girl too."
The voice on the other end crackled. "Observe. Do not engage."
"But—"
"No. Not until we're ready. The Ashbound soul is awakening. We'll take it when the time is right."
The spyglass was lowered. A scarred hand clenched it tightly.