The cold beneath the earth clung to their bones like wet linen. After a sleep that none could rightly call restful, the four emerged from makeshift bedding of burlap and broken crates, stiff-limbed and sore. Grey's torch was sputtering low now, a blue-orange coil of dying light that cast long shadows against the uneven stonework of the buried city.
Nixor poked at the embers with the tip of a knife, his breath visible in the chill. "We're burning through pitch and patience. We can't stay down here much longer."
"No," Krashina murmured, adjusting her blade's sheath. "And the air smells different. Damp. Moving." She tilted her head, listening. "Hear that?"
It was faint—so faint that for a moment they thought it might be the ghost of a sound. But then it came again, clearer now: the gurgle of running water.
"A stream?" Cairvish asked, wrapping his velvet cloak tighter around his shoulders.
"Or worse," muttered Nixor. "I've seen cities drown in their own sewers. Let's pray this isn't a dead-end full of rot and drowners."
They pressed on, winding through the ancient bones of the Tremharin ruins. The underbelly unfolded like a forgotten tomb—pillars half-consumed by the earth, murals so old they flaked away with the breath of passing footsteps, a toppled colonnade swallowed by moss and time. Somewhere overhead, the living world marched on, unaware of the city's dead roots.
When they reached the edge of the water, they stopped short. The tunnel opened onto a vaulted cistern where the floor vanished beneath black, rippling current. Broken stone bridges jutted like jagged ribs above the surface, and reeds swayed in the gloom.
"The river's bled in," Nixor said, squatting down to inspect the flow. "Not sewer runoff—this is fresh. Or was, once."
"Then this might be the river Veir," Cairvish added. "It ran through the heart of Old Ereny, back before the fall. The revolt and the collapse buried the imperial quarter. Magic ruined the walls, broke the aqueducts. That's what the old tales say. Magic broke the city. That's why Erathmus, god of civilization, calls it blasphemy."
Grey's eyes flicked toward the water. "Many gods claim that. And yet it's priests and dukes who decide what's blasphemy. The Grand Duke allows sorcery in his courts—carefully leashed, of course. There are cities north of here where it's taxed, not hunted."
Nixor snorted. "And I'm sure the tax collectors sleep like babes, too."
"But," Grey added, more softly, "there are darker powers out there. Cabals older than the Empire. Rumors say even the Grand Duke fears to move against them."
"Old ghosts." Cairvish's voice dropped. "The kind that level cities."
They followed the river-tunnel north, careful along the slick stones, past the remnants of arches and broken iron gates rusted to their hinges. Finally, the damp chill began to shift—air stirred from ahead, carrying with it a bite of winter and the scent of water reeds.
The tunnel narrowed as they trudged along the water's edge, the ceiling lowering until they had to stoop. The sound of the river grew louder—no longer the steady whisper of current, but the roar of something vast. The stone beneath their feet trembled with it.
Nixor stopped, one hand raised. "There," he said, pointing.
Ahead, light shimmered through a rusted iron gate, crooked on its hinges. Beyond it, the tunnel ended. The river poured out into the open world—but not gently. The party stepped through the gate and froze.
They stood at the broken edge of the world.
Beyond the twisted iron gate, the old imperial tunnel opened into a vast wound in the earth—stone torn and shattered, the river surging out into a howling void. The quake that buried Old Ereny had not only collapsed the city above but cracked the earth itself. A sheer cliff, jagged and icy, dropped hundreds of feet into the mist-choked forest below. The river flung itself into space, a silver ribbon dissolving in mid-air.
Wind screamed up the gorge's throat, biting through soaked cloaks and numbed fingers. Nixor narrowed his eyes, scanning the cliff face. Faint ledges, roots, and broken masonry jutted like cruel teeth from the wall. A narrow, treacherous route wound along the cliffside to a place where a collapsed stair met solid ground.
"Well," he said, with a crooked grin that didn't reach his eyes. "There's our way out. Try not to die."
"Looks like the quake that buried the city sheared this whole quarter off," Grey said, shivering. "This... this is the end of Old Ereny."
"We're not going back," Krashina said, the grimness of her voice replacing the depressed silence she had thus far contributed. "Not unless you feel like facing the Baron's gallows."
"Sideways, then," Nixor said, stepping to the cliff wall. "There's a path of sorts. Natural ledges. I've climbed worse running from debt collectors."
Grey swallowed. "You've done this before?"
Glancing sideways, Nixor scowled. "I've survived this before."
Krashina said nothing. She stepped onto the ledge without hesitation, fingers gripping the stone. The wind clawed at her, but she moved with quiet determination. Behind her came Cairvish, then Grey, with Nixor bringing up the rear, eyes constantly scanning above and below.
Each step was a gamble. Ice glazed every handhold, every root. Snow had melted and refrozen along the ledges, turning them into glass. Once, Grey slipped—his boot skating out from under him. He cried out, scrabbling at the wall.
Nixor lunged, one arm catching Grey's collar. His other hand seized a root barely thick as a finger. His muscles screamed. His boots slid an inch, then another. But the root held.
"I said don't die," he snarled, teeth gritted. "That includes you."
Grey, white-faced, nodded. "Right. Yes. Thank you."
"You owe me again," Nixor muttered, but the edge of a smirk returned.
Krashina, farthest ahead, paused at a narrow shelf of broken stone. Her mind burned with his memory. He'd loved heights, she remembered suddenly. Would've found this exhilarating. She clenched her jaw and pressed on.
Behind her, Cairvish reached a spot where the ledge thinned to little more than a crack. He hesitated—boots sliding. The drop yawned below.
"Move," Nixor barked from behind.
"I—" Cairvish's voice caught. His foot lost purchase. He started to fall sideways.
A hand seized his wrist. Krashina, flat against the stone, hauled him forward and back onto the ledge. She didn't speak. Didn't scold. Just met his eyes, and then turned away again.
"I—" Cairvish exhaled, breath fogging the air. "I owe you."
She didn't answer. Her grip lingered only a moment longer than necessary before she released him. But her silence said much.
They climbed like insects over the frozen bones of the earth. The path curved, rose, fell. At one point they passed the remnants of an old bridge—its stone arches shattered, its flags long buried. Nixor paused, eyes drawn to a rusted symbol etched in its base.
"Tremharin," Cairvish nodded. "The old empire. This city was their jewel. I guess buried jewels can rot, just like anything else."
Eventually, after what felt like hours, they hauled themselves over the edge onto solid earth. The gorge lay behind them like a broken throat. They collapsed behind a rise of moss covered boulders, catching their breath. Their hands were scraped and bloody, faces pale from cold and effort.By the time they reached the far side of the gorge, fingers numb and clothes slick with snow, they found shelter behind a rise of stone. The forest lay stretched before them like a frost-laced sea, dense and silent. To the north, smoke curled above the roofs of Ereny, its crooked spires barely visible through the haze.
"We should keep moving," Krashina said finally. They crossed a frozen cart path leading toward the city. Krashina paused beside a boulder, holding a hand up. "Guards," she whispered.
Sure enough, two figures moved along the timber and stone picket wall that traced the city's edge. Wrapped in bearskin cloaks, armed with halberds, they paused now and then to scan the treeline.
Grey nodded, teeth chattering. "If the guards are looking for us—"
Cairvish pointed. The city wall curved in the distance, stone and timber battlements casting long shadows in the afternoon sun. A patrol moved along the wall—cloaked figures with halberds and high boots.
"They're watching for someone, perhaps even us." Cairvish said.
"Or anything else that moves," Grey muttered.
Nixor lowered his hood. "Us, maybe. Or the envoy." He stood, brushing frost from his sleeves. "Still, we head north, and either way, we don't want their attention."
"Toward the Black Spore," Grey muttered. "Armed with... nothing but frostbite and old grudges." Grey pulled his coat tighter, shivering.
Nixor broke a branch from a nearby fallen tree, hefting it like a club. "You'd be surprised what can be done with bad intentions and a stick."
A gust of wind shook the trees. The road stretched west, curving north to follow the river from higher ground.The cold and uninviting forest was scattered in all directions, only parting for the road in the north.
They waited, silent as tombstones, until the patrol moved on. Then, keeping low and quiet, the group angled north, toward the dense heart of the forest.
Behind them, Ereny loomed on its crumbling foundations, as if reluctant to let them go.