The old oak hatch closed above me with a hollow clunk, its sound echoing through the narrow passageway.
I dropped the last few feet onto the cold brick floor, the sound of my boots slapping against damp stone echoing down the corridor like a warning.
The dark was all consuming, and the air smelt like mold and rust. All I could see was darkness, yet there were some oil lanterns scattered across the pavement, offering brief respite from the black.
Someones been here recently.
I made sure my revolver was still attached to my waist, and my sword held in my right hand was fully extended. The oil from the lanterns still shone bright, and I could smell the burnt oil in the air.
The rain drainage system - an older network beneath the Outer Rim - seemed abandoned at a first glance. Rusted piping curled along the ceiling like the veins of a dead god, and somewhere deeper in the tunnel, I could hear water dripping at an irregular pace.
It wasn't the worst place I'd been, but it was close. The eerie feeling I had in my gut was rarely wrong - and right now it was screaming at me.
This was where the smugglers ran their network, or at least one of the routes. And if that bastard was telling the truth… there was something else down here too. Something they didn't want to explain. Something that caused them to close this route all-together.
And considering the fact I'd probably burned my Halrigg disguise by now, I didn't have time to waste. The last thing I needed was to walk into some of his unsuspecting men.
Starting from today, I should make a policy to avoid killing humans as much as possible.
With a mental note, I started walking.
The tunnel wasn't narrow - just low. Arched ceilings forced me to duck slightly, even with my average frame. The brick under my feet was uneven, slick with age and runoff. Every step sent up a small splash, causing me to grimace. The smell only got worse the deeper I went, and I couldn't help but gag slightly.
It clung to the inside of my nose. Rust, mildew, the faintest trace of rotting meat. Faint - but not faint enough to ignore. Who knew what kind of indescribable things had happened down here, with the lack of prying eyes.
What -?
Suddenly, I felt the air grow heavier and denser. A sickly feeling overcame me, as if the contents in my stomach wanted to escape. The shift wasn't instant, but it came creeping in a gradual rise.
Not a sound, nor a flicker of light. Just… pressure. Like the air got thicker. Like someone was holding a heavy cloth over my face without touching me.
I stopped walking, my hand now gripping my revolver.
I quickly looked behind me, as if expecting to see something - or someone - staring at me.
Nothing.
No footsteps behind me. No figures in the shadows. Just that pressure, building. Pressing against the back of my skull. Making the edges of my vision twitch.
It feels as though people are watching me.
I didn't say anything.
Didn't need to.
I recognized the feeling now.
The Veil was close, and it was making itself known.
It didn't come all at once. It was like a sickness - slow, creeping. The shadows seemed heavier. The water dripped slower. The light bent ever so slightly the wrong way. Oddities in my reality slowly started to contort, as though I was in an oil painting.
At first, I thought it was just my nerves, or maybe I was just tired.
But then, I saw a figure.
Just ahead. Flickering. There and not.
A boy. No older than ten. Standing ankle-deep in the water, pale and motionless.
My breath caught in my throat, and I felt cold sweat start to form just above my brow.
I blinked, and he was gone. I wiped the sweat off my forehead, and continued moving.
Right. Okay, I'm good.
I rubbed my temple with my free hand. The air felt electric now, like I'd been breathing static. My heart wasn't racing, but my skin felt too tight. Like I was wearing myself wrong.
Alright, that's enough of that, I'm just about tired of this sickly feeling.
I tapped my forehead once.
A faint warmth bloomed in my chest, similar to the feeling of drinking alcohol. The feeling then spread to my eyes - and just like that, the pressure changed. My irises shifted, Charlotte's sigil softly glowing in their reflection. Oddly, my eyes were now so bright that a faint pink-red color mixed with the orange-yellow hue of the oil lamps.
The hallucinations unfortunately didn't vanish, and the faint voices I could hear were still ever so prevalent.
They just… peeled away.
The boy was still there, but translucent now. A projection. An echo. And behind him, barely visible without the eyes, was a shimmer in the air - like the world itself was tearing at the seams.
I walked forward, slower now.
The walls changed too. Beneath the old bricks, I could see another texture overlaying reality. Veins of glowing red light pulsed through them - like capillaries beneath a stretched membrane.
That membrane was thin.
Like something was on the other side, pressing its face against it.
Every step now came with resistance. Not physical - just that low, gnawing sense of something watching. The deeper I went, the louder the voices got. The air felt like it had weight, like I was breathing soup.
And I could feel it pulling me.
I didn't need a map. My body was being guided, entranced and allured to whatever was causing this distortion.
Eventually, the tunnel ended in what looked like a solid brick wall.
Except it wasn't.
Not with these eyes.
With the pink-red glow burning behind my retinas, I saw it for what it really was: not a wall, but a veil. The outline of a hidden doorway, stitched together by divine residue. There was a sigil on it too - faint, rotted with time - but unmistakable.
I reached forward.
The brick wasn't cold. It was warm. Too warm.
It gave slightly under my touch. And then it opened.
A small passage greeted me, tight enough that I had to walk sideways to squeeze through. My back brushed the wall behind me, and my shoulder scraped something wet on the opposite side.
Great.
At the end of the passage, I saw a room.
Hidden.
Still.
And very much not empty.
It looked like a makeshift study. The kind paranoid men build in places no one should ever find.
A desk sat in the middle - crooked, legs uneven. Papers and scrolls littered it, maps pinned to the walls with fraying string connecting points and names. A cracked lantern sat cold in the corner. And in the far left, floating in a sealed glass tank, was an eye.
Not human. Not anymore.
It twitched faintly. Still alive. Barely.
Fuck.
It was one of the mechanical eyeballs that followed the Heirarch.
And the smell… gods. It was like the air had curdled. A mix of chemicals, mildew, and something sweet and rotting, like old fruit and blood.
My head pulsed. My thoughts started slipping again. I started to rush towards the room, as if I were magnetized.
Suddenly, as I took my first step... the voices stopped.
I felt normal again, and my vision returned to normal, as though everything previously was merely a bad dream.
It seems all that was a deterrent, but how come I was being attracted to it?
My fingers brushed the edge of the desk in the middle of the room. I started to look at the papers scattered and read it sparingly, which was enough.
Holy shit.
This was no smuggler den.
This was a war room.
And someone had just left it behind.