The tunnels open into a cellar.

Above, through rotting floorboards, you hear the city you once knew—but wrong. The familiar sounds are gone. No merchants calling, no children playing, no bells marking the hours. Just the occasional shuffle of feet. The distant bark of shadow creatures. And beneath it all, a low hum that sets your teeth on edge.

“The gem,” Wren whispers. “It’s screaming. Can you hear it?”

You can. It’s been in your head since you entered the city limits—the founders’ agony, muffled but constant.

“Move quiet,” Mira says. “Stay in shadow. The patrols follow patterns, but the creatures… they sense light. They sense hope. Keep yours dim.”

It’s harder than it sounds.

You emerge into streets you’ve known your whole life, now transformed into something from a nightmare. Buildings stand empty, their windows dark. The cobblestones are stained with something that might be blood, might be shadow residue. And everywhere—on walls, on doors, on the ground itself—symbols drawn in ash.

“Varek’s marks,” Theron mutters. “Protection wards. Or ownership claims. Hard to tell the difference.”

You press through the city, moving from alley to alley, cellar to cellar. Twice you spot patrols—shadow creatures in pairs, prowling with predatory patience—and twice you freeze, barely breathing, until they pass.

The gem grows closer.

Its light is visible above the rooftops now—sickly purple, pulsing irregularly. The scream in your head grows louder with every step.

“There.” Mira points to a building near the central square. “The old Council Hall. That’s where Corvus said to meet.”

The resistance’s forward position. One more stretch of open ground between you and the rendezvous.

You take a breath. And you run.