It was dark.

  Really dark.

  And cold.

  Cold and dark, as it had always been, and somehow that made it acceptable. Lecia had learned the shape of this place through endurance. The chill no longer startled her, and the silence no longer pressed so hard. It was harsh, yes, but not cruel. Not truly.

  The darkness was not hollow. Something shared it with her. A presence lingered there, faintly warm, carrying a suggestion of comfort that had no clear source. It stirred like a quiet breath against the void. It was hungry, too, though that detail barely registered. Hunger was a constant companion to Lecia, familiar enough to lose its edge.

  What mattered was nearness. The sense of something just ahead, close enough to feel but not to name. A shape, perhaps, or a gathering of lines, refusing definition. Her golden eyes strained against the black, searching for meaning where there was only suggestion. Whatever it was, it was drawing nearer, and the distance between them was thinning.

  No, she was the one moving. She was getting closer. She reached for it, that warm, glowing shape. The closer she got, the more it wiggled and twisted and trembled in strange ways, like it was trying to slip away. She kept stretching her small fingers further and further, but just as she was about to grab it, it blinked out of existence.

  Gone. Just like that.

  And now there was nothing.

  The cold seeped into her earthy brown flesh again, but that didn’t bother her either. It wasn't anything new. The chill clung to her waifish frame, the kind of chill that never truly left, but she didn’t even shiver anymore. It was just another part of her muted existence—silent and lonely. Empty in a way she didn't quite understand. She thought she should feel upset, maybe sad, but those feelings were always faint and oddly distant, like the writing shape just out of her reach.

  And then something yanked her out of the dark.

  "—got mud in yer ears, ye filthy little squalorspawn?"

  Lecia's eyelids fluttered open, heavy and slow, and she blinked twice. The abrasive voice didn't fully register, sluggish and disoriented as she was. She glanced down, realizing she was hanging in the air by the collar of her threadbare blouse. Lecia didn’t flinch. Being plucked off the ground by her scruffy, oversized clothes wasn't exactly a new experience, but even if it had been, she couldn't muster the mental energy to care.

  It was uncomfortable, certainly, but it was only one discomfort in a long, worn list. Case in point, the chill of the alley clinging to her dark skin, sinking into her small, skinny limbs. It attacked her full force now that she'd been yanked right out of the oversized cloak she'd been bundled in. But again, Lecia couldn't spare a thought for the cold, nor for the hulking bear of a man trying to shake some sense into her.

  "...Lost it again..." she muttered under her breath, her voice dull, barely louder than a whisper. The words came out in a groggy murmur and without much thought for anything but the shape in her dream. It was more an observation than a complaint, but the man—a butcher judging by his bloody apron—wasn't privy to her meaning. He likely didn't care either.

  "Aye, I’ll say ye have, girlie!" The balding, beady-eyed butcher snarled in reply to her mumbled words. He shook her again, harder this time. His thick, callused hand almost swallowed her entire collar as he held her up. "Three times now! Three times I told ye to stay away from my shop, and I ain’t tellin’ ye a fourth time, ya hear?!"

  The rough shaking jolted her a little, but Lecia barely reacted, her face blank as uninked parchment. She blinked one more time and glanced at the man, her flat, lifeless eyes locking onto his. His pudgy pink face was quickly growing red at Lecia's continued lack of response. Lecia stared at the butcher, unblinking. It wasn’t fear or defiance—just that same distant, disinterested gaze that was her default.

  "It's quiet here... The older kids don't bother me..."

  Her voice came out just as distant and detached as her expression. The words were simple, like stating a fact. Not much point in saying more, Lecia knew. Even if the man wanted her to say something now, Lecia understood full well that people like this didn’t like it when filthy alley rats like her talked too much—not that she'd ever been guilty of such a thing—and the butcher wasn’t going to care about her reasons regardless.

  Her words didn’t help. The man’s eyes narrowed, his face twisting in barely controlled fury. "Quiet?! Ye think my alley’s a blasted sanctuary for yer napping?! Get yer hide outta here 'fore I tan it proper!"

  He gave her another hard shake before dropping her. Lecia hit the ground with a dull thud, wincing slightly at the jolt of pain running up her spine from the awkward landing. The stones were cold beneath her. She scrambled for purchase for a moment before pushing herself up on her elbows, her messy snow-white locks falling in front of her face.

  Before she could fully rise to her feet, the butcher reached down again, snatching up a fistful of that tangled, dirty hair. Lecia felt the sharp tug as he pulled her head up, her scalp stinging, but her expression didn’t change save for a slight grimace of pain. She let out a small grunt but didn't allow herself much more than that.

  "And Holy Bellatina as my witness," he hissed, his voice low now, almost a growl, "if I catch so much as a whiff of yer hide behind my shop again, those other brats’ll be the least o’ yer worries."

  He let go of her hair, shoving her back, and Lecia stayed where she was for a second, staring at the ground. She didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much to say. She knew what he meant. She knew some of the older kids in the Darkreach District were worse. They didn’t like runts like her hanging around, especially when she didn’t talk or play along with their games.

  A certain lanky blonde boy and his pig of a partner came to mind, but Lecia quickly dismissed the image, not wanting to dwell on the reason for her latest sojourn into Tradehaven. The Tradehaven District, or the Merchant's Quarter to the locals, wasn't exactly a place for her kind. Most places in Veilheim weren't, to be fair, but everyone in Veilheim knew only thieves, liars, and beggars came from Darkreach, and all of them were bad for business.

  The Beggar's Quarter just had that bad of a reputation.

  She stood up slowly, grabbing her fallen, tattered cloak off the ground and wrapping it tightly around her small frame. The butcher was still glaring at her, waiting for her to leave. She didn’t bother looking at him again, just shuffled back a few steps before turning and slipping into the shadows of the alley.

  The butcher muttered something as he watched her go, but Lecia didn’t hear him as she fled. She kept moving, her bare feet making soft slaps against the cobblestones, the cold biting at her legs even through the cloak. She quickened her pace, slipping through the alleys that wound through the still bustling district. Lecia didn’t belong here. The butcher believed as much, and so would any other resident of Tradehaven. The feeling was mutual.

  Lecia liked the peace she found in Tradeheaven when she could get away with it. That didn't stop the feeling that she was an outsider trespassing into a world she had no business intruding upon. Lecia wasn't one of them, but she knew the Merchant's Quarter was a favorite stomping ground for cutpurses and conmen. Despite the increased presence of the Watch in Tradehaven, it was usually a safer bet than trying one's hand in the Beggar's Quarter. The Darkreach District had its own marketplace, but the goods and the merchants who sold them were...

  Well, it wasn't exactly a place for children to go snooping about.

  Every step deeper into the Merchant’s Quarter felt like walking through a completely different city altogether. Even at this hour, the main streets were still alive with bright aetherlamps and lanterns and the low murmur of activity. The buildings here weren’t like those in Lecia's grimy slice of Veilheim—they stood taller, their facades clean and polished, signs hanging above shop doors in neat script, many of them runelit in bright, eye-catching colors.

  The air smelled different. It was sharp and metallic, like the lingering scent of polished steel and oil mixed with something rich and sweet, probably from one of the bakeries still open late into the night. Lecia could even hear the faint clink of glasses and laughter spilling from a nearby tavern. The people here walked with their heads held high, in fine clothes that brushed against the street like they belonged to a different world. Even at this time of night, the merchants and traders looked like they had a purpose, even if that purpose was to spend the coin they’d earned during the day.

  But Lecia kept her head down. She stayed close to the shadows, weaving through the narrow alleys between the towering buildings, where the streets were tighter and less polished. The cobblestones here were uneven, the path more derelict than the wider streets. Still, this part of Tradehaven felt more familiar. Here, where the light from the aetherlamps lining the roads flickered weakly, Lecia could almost imagine she wasn’t so far from home.

  She passed by the back doors of shops and warehouses, where crates and barrels were stacked high, some of them still full of unsold goods or leftovers from the day. A couple of cats darted from behind a stack of crates, their sleek bodies vanishing into the darkness before Lecia could catch more than a glimpse. She considered, briefly, checking the barrels for anything edible, but no. Not tonight. She was too far from Darkreach and too close to trouble.

  Besides that, there seemed to be more of the Watch patrolling about than usual. Or maybe it was Lecia's imagination. Veilheim's militarized constabulary had little presence in the Beggar's Quarter, so Lecia didn't have a clear frame of reference. Regardless, the beating she'd suffer if she were caught wasn't worth the risk. It was hard enough sneaking around such a busy district as it was.

  The streets grew quieter as Lecia slipped further from the main thoroughfares. Her eyes scanned her surroundings with a practiced calm, taking in the little details—the faded signs over alleyway doors, the cracked windows, the patches of moss growing between the cobblestones. It wasn’t as flashy or perfect here. The closer she got to the edge of Tradehaven, the more the district showed its cracks, like it was slowly unraveling the further it stretched from its polished heart.

  A flicker of amber light caught her eye—a rune-powered aetherlamp at the alley’s end, sputtering weakly before it went dark. Lecia stopped for a moment, watching the light as it struggled to stay alive, the rune inside flickering in and out. She felt a small pang of something she couldn’t name, like a deep, quiet longing. It was the same every time she saw the runic arts in action, even if it was just a failing aetherlamp on an old backstreet.

  Despite the clear segregation of each district, the runecraft was used almost everywhere in the massive city-state that was Veilheim. From simple aetheric script to complex sigils and arrays, just about every profession made use of runes in one way or another. It wasn't just Veilheim either. Every nation, from the smallest hamlet to the largest metropolis, made use of aether by way of runes to some extent. It was how civilization functioned. How the world—how Prathus worked.

  And Lecia...

  Lecia's hands twitched as she continued to stare at the darkened lamp. Could she fix it? Probably. It wouldn't take too much work since the runes were already there. She'd just have to... but no. Best not to stir up trouble and reveal things she'd rather keep hidden for now. It was a small, irritating burr in her mind, but Lecia let it go. It was just a broken lamp, and she had other places to be.

  She sighed softly, her breath visible in the cold air. She’d have to move fast now. The narrow streets of Tradehaven had already given way to quieter, darker alleys, and the walls that separated this district from Darkreach loomed ahead, casting long shadows across her path. The wall wasn’t much of an obstacle. Lecia had found the breach long ago, an old, forgotten crack in the stone hidden behind a row of neglected buildings. It was easy enough to slip through for someone her size, and once on the other side, it was like stepping into a different world altogether.

  Tradehaven was polished and bustling on its good days, but the Darkreach District was a dusty, moldy testament to the forgotten and obsolete—a decrepit cesspool for the people and problems no one cared about. And Lecia, like the rest of those who called the Beggar's Quarter home, knew that wasn't going to change anytime soon. With one last glance over her shoulder at the brilliant aetherlit glow of Tradehaven, Lecia ducked into the breach in the wall and disappeared into the darkness beyond.

  Slipping through the wall with ease, Lecia emerged on the other side, the rancid stench of Darkreach’s streets hitting her like a hammer blow. She moved quickly, weaving deeper into the district as the rusty lamps sparked and guttered weakly, their light barely reaching her. She was back now—back in the oldest, poorest district in Veilheim, where she and her kind belonged. A so-called "sanctuary" for beggars, thieves, and the all-around downtrodden.

  Now that Lecia was back in familiar territory, she allowed herself a moment to reflect. It had been a mistake to wander outside Darkreach. Lecia knew it, but she'd done so anyway, because it had been necessary—or so she thought at the time. But had it really been necessary? Squalor aside, Darkreach was one of the larger districts in Veilheim. There were no shortage of places to hide. Did she really have to flee all the way to Tradehaven just to get away from Derik and his cronies?

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Probably not, Lecia thought bitterly.

  No, Lecia's real goal hadn't been safety or solace. She'd wanted to go farther, past the Merchant's Quarter. She'd wanted to see the rest of the world beyond her dreary pocket of Veilheim. But what she really, truly wanted, was to catch a glimpse of the Academy that sat at the heart of the Magehollow District. Lecia had never seen it herself, but she’d heard stories. The tall, imposing spires of the fortress-like Academy of the Runic Arts could be seen from almost anywhere in the city.

  Almost anywhere except for Darkreach and Tradehaven, as it turned out. Unfortunately, those were the only two districts Lecia had access to. Every other exit from Darkreach was heavily regulated. This wasn't to keep people from coming in, naturally, but rather to stop undesirables from sneaking out to cause trouble for their betters. That opening in the wall was the only way in or out of Darkreach for most kids like Leci. And of course, no one in the Beggar's Quarter was dumb enough to reveal the escape route.

  But even with that tiny bit of freedom, Lecia had never seen even the shadow of the Academy's obsidian towers. The runic arts flowed freely from Magehollow like a roaring river, lighting up the hearts and minds of every Mage and scholar who wandered its streets.

  Where Lecia stood, that wondrous river of magick was reduced to barely a trickle. What little runecraft Darkreach enjoyed was much like the aetherlamps she passed on her way back—sparking, sputtering, and dying out like they couldn’t hold on any longer. She watched yet another one just as it flickered out completely, its dull amber glow disappearing. That was the way things worked here.

  Lecia gave another soft sigh, not stopping or even changing her pace. Her face didn’t show anything, but there was a flicker of disappointment in the sigh. Yes, it had been a mistake leaving Darkreach again, but if she wanted to see more magick—real magick—she didn’t have much of a choice. Runecraft and Sigaldry that actually worked were rare in her part of the city. Most of them were broken or worn out from years of neglect. It was like trying to reach that shape in her dreams: she kept reaching and reaching, but she never got anywhere close.

  That dream. The black void, the squirming lines, the shape that always slipped away... she had it every night. Every. Single. Night. As far back as she could remember. Years of the same dream, night after night—or so she assumed. The first couple of years of Lecia's life were completely missing from her mind, which was strange because Lecia had a really good memory otherwise, and yet the only she could remember from her earliest years was her name.

  Regardless, she didn’t know what the shape in her dream meant. She didn’t know why she kept dreaming about it. But she always woke up just before she could catch that thing, whatever it was. It was annoying—frustrating—but there wasn’t much she could do about it. Just like everything else.

  Lecia’s stomach growled, and she clutched at it, the hunger biting at her like a familiar old enemy. She hadn’t managed to find any food while she was out, and now she was paying for it. “Hungry,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. But the hunger was normal. She didn’t complain much. Not when it was like this all the time. She kept walking, heading back toward the orphanage with nothing but the thought of maybe getting some soup. Or, at the very least, convincing the Matron to let her have something. If she was lucky.

  A sound cut through the quiet, like wood crashing to the ground. Lecia didn’t turn to check. Her pace stayed the same, slow but steady. She didn’t stop to listen to the angry curse that followed either. It didn’t matter who it was. She wasn’t interested in finding out, and she knew better than to go poking around in someone else’s mess. That was one of the few ways to get in trouble around here, and she wasn’t in the mood for it tonight.

  She kept moving, her eyes on the cracked cobblestones under her feet. They were uneven, covered in grime, but that didn’t bother her. Her feet had long since toughened up, the calluses hard enough that walking over broken glass or sharp rocks barely registered. The ruins of old buildings loomed around her, their windows and doors broken or boarded up, like the entire place had given up. That was what Darkreach was like—broken, just waiting to collapse.

  Lecia’s stomach growled again, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the familiar path home. The streets weren’t that dangerous, not for her. Not for someone who looked like they had nothing worth stealing. Even the worst of Darkreach’s thugs didn’t bother with kids like her most of the time. She blended in, kept her head down, and knew when to keep quiet.

  Thoughts momentarily occupied by food, Lecia failed to notice that she'd passed just a little too closely to one of the many grimy alleyways down the path she walked. A shadow slipped out of the alley before Lecia had time to react. She'd barely had time to catch a glimpse of the assailant before an arm suddenly snaked its way around her shoulders, and a low, nasally voice hissed in her ear.

  “Out late again, Lecia? What would the Matron say if she knew?”

  Lecia flinched, her thin muscles tensing up as her dull gaze cut sideways toward the figure. Recognizing both the voice and the face, she relaxed somewhat, but mentally kept her gaurd up. The arrival of this particular Darkreach denizen wasn't ideal, but at the very least, they weren't an immediate threat.

  Still, it grated a bit that Lecia had fled the district to escape this boy only for him to show up anyway when she finally returned.

  "Why are you here?" she asked, her tone a blade both flat and blunt at the edges, “Were you following me?”

  The taller boy let go of her and stepped back, probably disappointed she didn’t react more. Lecia finally turned to see none other than Orin, one of the older boys from the orphanage. Pale, lanky, with dirty blonde hair that stuck out in every direction and those green eyes always looking for trouble. He smirked, shaking his head like he was scolding her.

  “Following you? Nah." the boy replied."I was looking for you though. The Matron's worried sick, y'know? Sent me out here all on my lonesome in the dead of night to find you."

  Lecia's impassive expression didn't change, but something behind her lusterless golden eyes flared.

  “You're here to bring me back... and you didn't bring the others?" she asked pointedly.

  Orin shrugged.

  "It's not like we're all joined at the hip, Lessie," he said, sounding almost annoyed at the idea. "I don't need to bring the gang with me everywhere I go. That's get old real fast."

  Lecia didn't reply, simply continuing to stare at the older boy expectantly.

  They stood there in silence for a moment, the cold night air biting through even the thick fabric of Lecia’s cloak. She pulled it tighter around herself, but the chill always seemed to find a way in.

  Orin shifted awkwardly under the intense scrutiny. Then he sighed and scratched at his cheek as he looked away. His voice cut through the quiet again, softer this time.

  “One of these days, you're gonna get yourself into real trouble." He looked back down at Lecia, his exression turning serious. "There's been rumors, y'know. Kids around the district going missing. Getting snatched up right off the streets. A pygmy mouse like you'd be easy pickings if even half of what I've heard is true.”

  Lecia blinked, her fingers flexing under her cloak as she considered Orin's words.

  "...I can take care of myself."

  Orin barked out a laugh. “Come off it, Lecia. If you can't even stand up to Derik, what chance do you have against some back alley cutthroat or slaver thug?"

  She didn’t answer. Despite her confident statement, Orin was probably right. She wasn't as helpless as the older boy seemed to believe, but she was small. Physically weak. A single slip-up or lapse of judgement could easily be enough to end her life or worse. But Lecia knew all of this. She knew the dangers of living in this wretched cesspool.

  But she also knew that Veilheim had so much more to offer. All she had to do was survive long enough those lofty heights, and then...

  But before she could finish that thought, Orin shoved something into her chest. Lecia blinked, looking down to see a half-loaf of bread wrapped in dirty brown paper. It was stale and moldy in spots, but it was food. She glanced up at Orin, who just shrugged.

  “Can’t help myself. You standing there, looking like a helpless pup," he explained with a chuckle. "In all seriousness, you broke curfew rules so you're likely not getting a meal once you get back. Call this a... gift. Courtesy of Big Badi."

  Lecia glanced down at the moldy bread before looking back up at Orin. She thought a moment, then it hit her.

  "...You stole this from the basement storage."

  It wasn't a question nor an accusation. Simply a fact stated plainly—one that Orin didn't bother to deny.

  "Eh, they won't miss it."

  Lecia studied Orin for a second, her blank gaze meeting his green eyes. She knew Orin wasn’t just being nice. He never did anything without expecting something in return. But she didn’t ask questions. It wasn’t worth it. Instead, she tucked the bread under her cloak, saving it for later.

  "Thanks," she murmured.

  Orin just waved her off, then grabbed her arm, dragging her along with him down another narrow street. “Yeah, yeah, I’m a saint. Now come on, I’ve got something I wanna show you before we head back.”

  Lecia was caught off guard by Orin's sudden pivot, but didn’t bother to question or complain. She let herself get pulled along, her feet barely making a sound as they walked. She knew from experience that it was pointless to resist or argue. Orin always had a scheme and Lecia had neither the strength nor motivation to gainsay his decision to involve her, not even when he was alone.

  His cronies had beaten that out of her a long time ago and the resistance wasn't worth the effort most of the time anyway.

  He led her through the winding, broken streets until the familiar dark paths turned into old dirt roads. The air smelled different here—damp and moldy like the buildings around them had been rotting for years. They were getting close to the old market now, a place Lecia had only ever heard about. She never came this far east in Darkreach.

  “Not far now. Just past the old market,” Orin said, his voice lowering like he didn’t want anyone to overhear.

  Lecia kept her eyes forward, but she listened, waiting for Orin to elaborate. Sometimes he didn't bother. This time he was in a talkative mood.

  "So me and the boys were doing some odd jobs for Old Mikalo the other day," he explained. "Gathering info, looking for useless scrap for the old man's collection, the usual. Just trying to make a few stags, y'know?"

  Lecia didn't reply. She'd heard a bit about Old Mikalo from some of the other children back at the orphanage. Apparently, he was some strange old man who'd set up shop somewhere on the western edge of Darkreach and offered small jobs to the older street kids for money. Lecia didn't know much more than that as she'd never met the man, nor did she really care to. She did just fine on her own.

  Orin didn't seem to mind her silence and continued to talk.

  "So Old Mikalo says he's got the muck on some big secret hiding away out in Old Noblecrest, wanted us to check it out. Said he'd pay a pretty pennon for any clues we could get our mitts on."

  His emerald eyes slid to Lecia, a grin crossing his face. "Naturally, me and the boys went to do some investigating, and wouldn't you know it, we hit the jackpot."

  That was enough to make Lecia finally look up at him, her placid expression never changing, but now she was paying attention.

  Orin grinned, noticing her interest. “Finally got your attention, huh? Wanna know what we found?”

  Lecia nodded once, but Orin just chuckled. “Not here. There are too many people watching.”

  They moved through the old market, passing broken-down stalls and shadowy figures lurking in doorways. No one bothered them—no one ever did—but tonight felt different. The deeper they went into the ruined market, the emptier the path grew. By the time Lecia and Orin reached Old Noblecrest proper, the roads were completely devoid of squatters, leaving the two children the only ones left.

  No, that wasn't entirely true.

  Lecia glanced around, her placid gaze scanning the abandoned streets. She didn't see any signs of life, until she turned her attention to the few buildings that were still standing. In the flickering light of the runic streetlamps that still worked, she could the occasional glint of wary eyes peeking through boarded-up windows and hear the distant sound of something or someone shuffling about behind closed doors.

  She even heard an absent mutter and the odd hushed altercation here and there from the shadows of structures she thought had been empty. This place wasn't abandoned, but no one walked the streets and most of the once grandiose manors were reduced to inhospitable ruins. It made living here ill-advised.

  And yet, despite clear signs of life, there was still an unsettling stillness in the air, and it only got worse as Lecia and Orin approached the heart of this graveyard of old nobility and ancient prestige.

  The district had once been the pride of Veilheim’s elite, but now it was just a wasteland. The cracked cobblestones underfoot were uneven, weeds and wild vines clawing their way through the gaps like they were trying to reclaim the city. The mansions that had once stood tall and proud were now just skeletal ruins, crumbling walls covered in ivy and moss, windows cracked and broken, and roofs collapsed.

  Orin kept glancing around like he was expecting something to jump out at them, but Lecia knew better. The streets weren’t dangerous in the way he thought they were. Orin couldn't feel it, but Lecia could. The air was charged and tense, like something old and powerful was sleeping beneath the earth. She knew that feeling. She knew what it meant, and the implication was enough to get her heart pumping.

  This place practically stank of aether—so much so that it made Lecia's skin tingle.

  Aether hotspots weren't rare in the Darkreach District. There were quite a few in fact, even near the orphanage. But Lecia had never felt ambient aether weigh this heavily down on her. It was potent, pervasive, and somehow, incredibly old.

  Lecia's fingers flexed again, the motion hidden by her cloak.

  She resisted the urge to lick her dry, cracked lips.

  "You know why this place is so empty, right?" Orin asked, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

  No reply came. Lecia had mostly tuned the senior orphan out by this point, but he continued on regardless, not knowing or caring that her attention was elsewhere.

  "Most of us slum rats avoid this part of Darkreach," he said, lowering his voice dramatically like he was trying to scare her. "They say it’s haunted. The nobles who used to live here? Their ghosts still wander around at night, looking for anyone who dares to trespass on their land."

  Lecia just blinked, casting Orin a brief, disinterested side glance before returning to the overgrown ruins around them. Haunted? The idea didn’t scare her. She'd heard and read about ghosts but she'd never seen one and had no reason to believe they were lurking about. Still, she wasn't about to correct Orin's misconception about what was really going on. About the real reason most people likely avoided this place.

  They continued through the winding streets, the broken remnants of the old Noble's Quarter looming on either side, and Lecia couldn’t shake the strange feeling of being in a place lost to time. With every step forward, the sensation grew heavier. The ambient aether pressed closer, tighter, as if the ruins themselves were guiding her onward.

  The silence here felt heavy, like even the air had given up. The mansions, once grand and towering, were little more than piles of rubble and debris now. Old stone walls had crumbled into heaps, their once-impressive facades reduced to nothing but ruins swallowed by wild vines and moss. Windows were shattered, their glass long gone, leaving only gaping holes in the dark.

  Orin led her around the back of one particularly large ruin, the remains of a mansion that must have once been the centerpiece of the district. Now, it was just another pile of stones and broken beams, overrun with creeping, climbing plants. The garden, if it could even be called that anymore, was a tangled mess of weeds and rotting wood, the stone fountain at its center cracked in half, its bowl filled with rainwater and dirt.

  He stopped at a pile of debris near the back, where a pair of rusted cellar doors lay amidst fallen stones and broken and scattered wooden beams. The wood that made up the doors was cracked, and warped from years of exposure. The iron rings were coated in thick rust. Orin crouched down and gave the doors an experimental tug, the metal creaking loudly as they shifted slightly under his grip.

  Despite the apparent age of the wood, the doors themselves seemed surprisingly sturdy—heavy too from the looks of it. After a moment, Orin nodded in satisfaction and let the cellar doors slam shut. He straightened up and flashed Lecia a smug grin, his green eyes glinting in the low light. "Here we are," he said, gesturing toward the doors. "Care to do the honors?"

  Orin's words fell on deaf ears. The world had been reduced to s single point as all of Lecia's attention zeroed in on the cellar doors. Her hands clenched, her heart pounded, and a subtle gleam entered her eyes as her mind whirled with possibilities, anticipation, and the question of just what was down there—just what was giving off so much powerful aether beneath this ruined mansion?

  Whatever the source, it was practically calling to her.