Two stared at where he was and wondred how he’d found them. The manor could fit thousands at her lowest estimate, the odds of stumbling into them were minuscule. Her thoughts squirmed then she remembered he was an angel and she might as well ask why time ran forward. She shook off the encounter. She Ignored Abery’s litany of questions and waved him forward.

The manse’s sub levels had a distinct feel to them. Above wide hallways branched and twisted endlessly. You couldn’t walk down a down a corridor without passing a dozen door’s and turns each no doubt leading to opulent indulgence. It was an expansive place, but it was filled,every part used.

The same could not be said down here. The halls were just as long, the path no less convoluted but it was empty. There were few doors and fewer paths as they went deeper. The absence was a physical thing, a quiet awareness of what should but was not that stretched distance. Then all at once the bricks went from grey to gleaming black. Like the path was no longer dug but burnt into being and carved into shape after rock cooled.

Abery gulped and shivered. They stared down their next descent. A spiralling staircase. Lamps lined the wall , but their stone drank their light. The polished stone seemed wet under their glow like they were walking into a gullet. The scents of life ran thin. The dearth of mortal desire was so complete that she could taste the dreaming and sedate wind. Only the manor’s steady pulsing pride assured her she was still in the city.

“Miss can we maybe-“

“No. We continue.”

“But, but” he gestired at the dark hole.

Two sighed, mustered her empathy and turned from the pit pretending to be a staircase. “Do you trust your grandmother?”

“Yes,”

“Dou your trust you Lady?”

“Yes,” he said heasitantly.

“Then trust they wouldn’t let you come to harm.” She offered him a tight smile. “You’ll be fine Abery.”

He firmed though dubious he guided theur descent. He’d be fine Lancet wouldn’t let him die. Two wished she could say the same about herself.

She tasted it first a wet stillness in the air, clean yet musty at the same time. She heard it second, a high sound driven into low tones by echoing distance. Then she saw it. The steps melted into a gentle slope over several turns before flattening into a winding path. Lamps grew further apart stretching their shadows along the now uneven floor. Until their were none.

A lantern hung from a L shaped metal rod that was anchored into the stone floor. A deep orange flame burned in it. Its hued wavered as it shuddered in an unseen wind. Fluttering into shades of maroon, verdant greens and more, though never too long. Beyond it a yawning dark that plinked and clicked.

Two stared at the strange flame for a beat before a more important question rose. “Why is there a cave below the manor?”

“I don’t know miss, and I was very happy not knowing that was a question I could ask. Do you think it’s the only one? Are there other things down here? Grandma told me evil thing lurk below the ground do, do you think-“

“No, I don’t think an abomination, fell spirit or any other form of beastie is here to eat you.” Abery fretted about not eager to proceed. If there was something in the dark having a heart attack certainly wasn’t going to help, at best fear would season him. The thought brought a measure of ease. Abery was not suited for this. If Lancet thought he’d survive she surely would.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Two took and raised the lantern against the dark. Splashes of colour danced about the fire’s orange heart, granting a surreal edge to the flame. She could place the flame’s flavor.

Or perhaps she was eager tas eager to belive her comforts as Abery. “Nothing for it.” Two led the onward. Their path was jagged, stones thrust from the ceiling and floor like teeth. Long shadows and bearing down on them as the path narrowed and bent at whim. Only the ground immediately below them remained smooth. The slick stone threatened to send cast them to the floor, but it was better than breaking an ankle in the dark.

Though dark was an understatement. The gang’s base had been dark, but that had been a thing of magic. Light swallowed and suppressed, sound smothered. Things echoed here, twisting distances as one sound split into many and despite. The gloom was no less for its mundanity. It was the difference between being wrapped in an obscuring blanket and a small fire pressed against a moonless, starless night. The lantern stretched but it was simply not enough.

Plinks of dripping condensation gnawed at her, and her heart jumped at the sound. Figments darted at the light’s edge, the lantern’s wavering colour dredged long buried memory. It reminded her of the place she’d been tainted. A dark place fathoms deep and so old the stones had forgotten their place and halls wandered. She breathed the stone’s flavour and greeted her. Patient, slow, weighed by impossible stress. It wasn’t the same, but every breath pulled her down. Until she could almost taste it, that calcified poison, that deathless nothing.

“Two?” She glanced back at Abery, the mouse’s ears twitched and turned at every sound. They shivered like a leaf in the storm, but concern overcame their fear. “Are you okay? you stopped walking.”

Two stared without seeing him and wondered why she was shaking. “Two…” he reached to poke and she snapped to attention, taking a step back.

“I’m fine,” she said and shook off the recollection. She turned and continued on. She felt his worried gaze on her back. She hated it, loathed what it meant. A lack of control, failing self-discipline, weakness.

She grit her teeth and glared at the dark. A new conviction rooted in her, or was it an old wound remembered? It did not matter. She refused to wallow and let fear bind her. She had stared down Deadra, plotted against Lancet and won. She would not be daunted on the eve of her next trial.

Two held the lantern high.

“We’ll be fine miss?” Abery’s reasurance landed like a question.

“I know.” Hers did not.

They trekked for a time and distance she couldn’t grasp and arrived. The path ended in a cave. The ceiling slopped until it was over three metres over her head. The shadows of stalagmites thrust down from it and glinted in the lantern’s light. Darkness still shrouded most of the space but the fires illumated a large pool.

A click sounded from their side.

Abery jumpwd Two turned. Lit by the barest light stood a man so old he could’ve been father to the stone. His face was cragged and covered in a full grey beard. The lantern’s colours flitted across the simple grey smock that draped over him but failed to hide his bulk.

He chuckled and threw the clock hanging around his neck into great pendulous swings. “I’m sorry for the surprise, children, I’m rather on in the years and need this old thing lest I get lost in my work.” The clock was square with a circular face. Made of bronze, it was a heavy thing made to last, and last it had. Even in the dark, its mended scars were visible. She could also taste the thick essence of a cultivator.

“It’s okay,” Abery said from his hiding place behind her. When the man smiled genially, Abery peeked out. “Good… evening?” they tried.

“Good evening to you too, young man,” they turned their gaze to Two. His was a kind flavour and his crinkled spoke of many smiles. “And good evening to you, young miss, are you ready for your pilgrimage?”

Two’s mind stuttered to a halt. “Pilgrimage?”

“That is enough, priest.” Rhevier’s sickly form walked into the light, their gold eyes glinted sharply in the dark. “Two reiterate what your cultivation is to be.” They said and glared at the priest.

Two glanced between them. Golden eyes locked a pair so deep in creases that their colour was indistinguishable. Her gaze lingered on the priest, loathing tried to worm its way into her thoughts. She had good reason to distrust the clergy. Most of the slum folk didn’t but showing it here wouldn’t do her any good.

She didn’t know what was going on, but she doubted silence would help her. Two was conscious of Abery presence when she spoke. “I am to cut off a piece of my soul. In it, I will imbue my foundational essences while poring everything unwanted into the rest of my soul. I will shape a space in my soul and place the piece there. Like a mariposa. They will be connected but distinct.” Two paused and stared at the glaring met. “At least that’s the theory I can’t feel my soul, nor do I know how to do any of that.”

The president broke the staring contest with a shake of his head. “That’s because it’s impossible. No low cultivator has that skill, so we might be able to manage. To help an unawakened do that?” they smiled ruefully. “We would need an Eddict or a specialist; we have neither.“

Two turned to Rhevier, she refused to believe he’d waste his time on something impossible “But there is a way, you called me here so that someone could oversee cultivation.”

He looked as if he’d bitten into something bitter.The wandering bruises twitched. “Indeed.”

The priest sent him a measuring look. They scoffed and looked away. “No mortal could do it. Both emissarie and their guardian declined. I asked the church if they needed aid, and they supplied it. Normally their intercession takes decades for anything not written into ritual but they’ve been uncharacteristically generous. ” His harsh tone struck Two Rhevier typically acted like a dead fish that was mildly annoyed at life’s circumstances. To see him heated was a surprise.

The priest chuckled. “But it isn’t often the asker is a scion of the imperial family or for a reason so good.” They smiled at Two. “Young lady on behalf of the clergy let me thank you. Today, you give us an opportunity to learn more about cultivation.” They glanced at Abery and winked at her. “And a personal thanks for letting me work with this spirit. The Labyrinth of Self is such a playful god.”