The false stars above hadn't changed. Not once.
Ten days had passed since their arrival, yet the sky remained locked in eternal night—unchanging, unwavering, like a painting stretched across the ceiling of the world.
Lucas sat by the edge of the stone platform, his boots dangling just above the black soil below. The smooth hum of the river nearby had become background noise—a strange comfort in this silent, forgotten place. His hands rested on his knees as he exhaled, slow and even, the air no longer burning his throat with every breath.
His body had recovered. Not fully. But enough.
Behind him, Lyss moved in practiced silence, adjusting her belt and tightening the straps of her armor. Her movements were as fluid as ever, but even she had slowed in recent days. The grueling descent, the battles, the training—it had all left marks.
They had survived worse. But survival wasn't the same as peace.
The riverside had become a temporary home. A firepit carved into the ground. Stones arranged around it. A collection of half-charred sticks from the strange trees nearby. Nothing luxurious, but functional.
He glanced at the half-dried fish resting on a stone slab beside the fire.
'Could be worse.'
The last ten days had been… strange. Quiet, yes, but filled with motion. They trained. They hunted. They rested. And in that rhythm, something had shifted. Not in the place—but between them.
Lucas reached into his coat and pulled out a half-dried core. The faint glow inside pulsed softly, like a sleeping heartbeat. He hadn't consumed this one yet.
He turned it over in his hand, then pocketed it again.
Behind him, Lyss stepped closer.
"We move tomorrow," she said quietly.
Lucas didn't turn to look at her. "Figured."
They stood in silence for a moment longer, watching the shadows ripple across the river's dark surface.
"One last day of peace," she muttered.
Lucas leaned back on his hands and stared up at the fake sky.
'Yeah. Peace. Sure.'
The river wasn't just water—it was life.
And in a place like this, life was rare. Precious.
Lucas crouched near the edge, eyes scanning the depths beneath the surface. Ripples distorted the shapes below, but he could still make out movement—slow, deliberate sways of massive bodies gliding through the current.
The mutated fish weren't aggressive. But they were massive. Each one easily the size of a small boar, with dull silver scales and dark, lidless eyes that reflected the false starlight like polished mirrors.
"I see three," Lucas murmured.
Lyss knelt beside him, eyes sharp. "They're staying deeper this time. Smarter now."
Lucas clicked his tongue. "Damn it. We've been picking off the dumb ones."
She smirked slightly. "Or maybe they just talk. Told their friends to stay away."
He gave her a look. "What, fish gossip now?"
"Wouldn't surprise me. Everything else down here seems off."
He rolled his shoulders, feeling the weight of his scythe still in its dormant state. His armor—now the white-pelted piece Lyss had gifted him—shifted slightly with the motion. The memory of his old one, broken and discarded on the snowy cliffs, flickered briefly through his mind.
He took a slow breath and stood.
"I'll go left. Try to drive one toward you. Be ready."
Lyss nodded, already summoning Starlight Fang in one hand, the blade humming faintly with energy.
Lucas stepped into the water cautiously, his boots sinking slightly into the muddy riverbed. The cold bit at his skin even through the armor, but he pressed on. Slowly. Silently.
One of the larger shapes drifted closer to the surface, unaware.
He didn't hesitate.
With a thought, Abyssal Reaper surged into his grip—black and sleek, the obsidian blade gleaming under the fake stars.
He struck.
The river exploded into movement as the fish thrashed, its tail sending water flying. But it was too late. Lucas had already activated Soulrend, the edge of the scythe slicing through the creature like butter—flesh and soul alike.
The system chimed in his mind.
[Beast Slain – Rivercarp Warden]
He dragged the carcass to the riverbank, panting lightly.
Lyss stood nearby, arms crossed. "Clean hit."
Lucas shrugged. "I'm hungry."
She knelt beside the corpse, inspecting the wound. "Soul Core's still inside. You taking it?"
He nodded. "Yeah. My turn."
They worked in silence, extracting the faintly glowing orb from deep within the creature's skull. Lucas held it in his palm for a second, then consumed it.
[Soul Core Consumed: +2]
[Current Soul Level: 112 / 1000]
He felt the faint rush—like a distant echo of strength brushing past his veins.
He exhaled slowly.
'Still a long way to go.'
Later that night, the riverbank lay quiet. The fire crackled softly, casting long shadows across the moss-covered stone. Their modest meal had filled their stomachs enough to take the edge off the hunger, but not enough to lull them into complacency.
Lucas stood a few meters away from the flames, stretching his arms and rotating his shoulders. His body still ached in places—ghosts of past wounds—but it was a familiar pain now. Tolerable.
Lyss stepped into the clearing a few seconds later, tightening her gloves. Her hair was still damp from the bath, tied in a loose braid that swayed lightly as she moved.
"Ready?" she asked.
Lucas gave her a tired glance. "Ready to get my ass kicked again? Sure."
She smirked, drawing Starlight Fang in a single smooth motion. The silver blade hummed with power as it responded to her grip.
"No weapons this time," she said, raising an eyebrow.
Lucas blinked. "What?"
"You're too reliant on your scythe. I want to see how you move without it."
He opened his mouth to argue, but the look in her eyes stopped him.
'Tch. Fine.'
He let out a breath and dismissed Abyssal Reaper, the weapon dissolving into particles of black light. His hands felt naked without it.
The two circled each other in the moonlike glow of the false stars, bare hands up, feet shifting on the dirt.
Lyss struck first.
A quick jab—meant to test. Lucas dodged to the side, but not fast enough. She adjusted mid-motion and slammed her palm into his chest, knocking the wind out of him.
He staggered back with a grunt.
"Again," she said calmly.
Lucas wiped his mouth and threw himself forward this time. A low punch aimed at her ribs, followed by a sweep of his leg.
She jumped, landing behind him, and kicked the back of his knee.
He dropped like a stone.
"Fuck—!"
Before he could rise, she pinned him with one knee and grabbed his wrist, twisting it lightly.
"You're still too tense," she said. "Stop thinking about strength. Focus on balance."
He growled under his breath, trying to twist free. "Easy for you to say."
She held him down a second longer… then let go and stood.
Lucas stayed on the ground, breathing hard. His pride was far more bruised than his body.
"I told you I'd train you," she said, brushing dust off her clothes. "This is what it looks like."
He didn't answer. Just stared up at the starlit sky above them.
'One day… I'll land a clean hit.'
She offered a hand.
After a pause, he took it.
The night had deepened, blanketing the underground world in silence.
Lucas sat near the edge of the riverbank, legs stretched out in front of him, the cold from the stone seeping through his clothes. His shirt clung to his back with sweat, his body aching from the sparring session. He didn't mind it, though. Pain meant progress.
Behind him, Lyss quietly poked at the fire with a branch, stirring the glowing embers. Her expression was unreadable, gaze fixed on the shifting flames.
Neither of them spoke for a long while.
Just the quiet sounds of water, fire… and breath.
Lucas looked at his hands. Calloused. Bruised. He clenched them slowly, then relaxed.
'Still weak. Still slow. But… less than before.'
He leaned back on his elbows and looked up at the impossible sky. The stars above shimmered like a frozen ocean, and for a brief moment, it didn't feel like they were trapped miles beneath the surface. It felt like the world had opened up.
"Hey," Lyss said suddenly.
He turned his head.
She was still looking at the fire. "You're improving. Slowly. But it's there."
Lucas scoffed lightly. "Is that supposed to be encouragement?"
A small smirk touched her lips. "Coming from me? It's practically a love letter."
He rolled his eyes and looked back at the stars.
They fell into silence again, but it felt lighter now.
"I don't get it," he muttered.
Lyss glanced over. "What?"
"You. This. The fighting. The teaching. What's your deal?"
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she tossed the branch into the flames, watching it vanish in a burst of sparks.
"I have my reasons," she said at last. "Let's just say… I don't want to do this alone."
Lucas frowned.
'Not alone, huh…'
He thought of the weeks they had spent together. The fights. The survival. The conversations. The silent glances.
It hadn't felt like he was alone.
Not entirely.
"Don't get used to me being nice," Lyss added, breaking the moment. "Tomorrow, we start again."
He snorted. "Can't wait."
The fire was little more than glowing coals now.
Lucas sat cross-legged beside it, slowly rotating one of the fish over the embers. The skin crackled, sending up occasional wisps of steam and fat that hissed as they hit the stones. It smelled… not great. But it smelled like food.
Lyss had moved a few meters away, leaning back against a boulder with her eyes half-closed. Her sword, Starlight Fang, rested on her lap—uninvoked for now, just as tired as she was.
Lucas exhaled, pulled the fish away from the flames, and bit into it.
It was chewy. Dry in some places, undercooked in others.
But it was food.
As he chewed, his gaze wandered toward the Soul Core he'd placed next to his feet. The pale, pulsating mass glowed faintly in the dark, casting a bluish hue on the stones around it.
He picked it up.
Held it in his palm.
Let the familiar cold seep into his skin.
'One more.'
Without hesitation, he crushed it in his hand.
The energy surged into him—quick, sharp, biting. His veins lit up with pain for a brief second, then settled into a warmth that lingered in his chest.
[Soul Core Consumed: +2 Soul Energy]
[Current Soul Level: 1 (112/1000)]
He let out a breath, tension draining from his shoulders.
Lyss cracked one eye open and gave him a nod. "Feeling stronger?"
He rolled his neck, wincing at the tightness. "A bit. Barely noticeable."
"It adds up."
"Does it?"
She smirked. "If you don't die first."
Lucas gave her a flat look. "Thanks for the motivational speech."
She shrugged and closed her eyes again.
The stars above pulsed faintly, like they were breathing in time with the slow trickle of the river.
He sat in silence for a long while, staring into the dark.
And then, almost without thinking, he muttered, "I'll survive this."
Lyss didn't reply.
But a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
The flames were dying, reduced to glowing embers cradled by blackened stones. Lucas sat beside them, arms resting loosely on his knees, eyes fixed on the flickering light. The warmth didn't reach far, but it was enough to take the edge off the cavern's chill.
Across the fire, Lyss added a final chunk of fish to a wrapped bundle of cloth—preserved rations for the days ahead. She didn't speak, but the steady rhythm of her movements said enough.
They had food.
They had water.
For the first time in weeks, they weren't desperate.
Lucas watched the sparks rise into the night sky. No, not the sky. The dome. The illusion of stars overhead. He'd almost grown used to it… which was disturbing in itself.
He glanced toward the path that followed the river. It disappeared into the heart of the city like a silver vein feeding some ancient, slumbering beast.
"Tomorrow," he said, breaking the silence. "We head for the city."
Lyss gave a single nod. "It's time."
He tilted his head. "You think we'll find something there?"
Her eyes reflected the starlight, unreadable. "Answers. Danger. Maybe both."
Lucas let out a quiet breath. "Figures."
They sat in silence again, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. The city loomed ahead of them, ancient and untouched. Whatever was waiting there had remained undisturbed for centuries. Maybe longer.
Lucas didn't know what they'd find—but he knew one thing.
He was ready to keep moving.
The last embers hissed in the silence.
He stood, brushing ash from his hands. Lyss followed, tightening the strap of the small pack slung across her back. The tension between them from earlier—awkwardness, uncertainty—seemed to have faded slightly. Or maybe they were just too exhausted to care.
The river flowed beside them, a constant, quiet presence.
Tomorrow, they'd follow it into the unknown.
Tonight, they rested.