It took longer than any of the three had expected for the Lift to reach the main city of Virevale, so it meant that by the time it did they were all exceptionally sweaty with numerous aches in their limbs. In the meantime Landry had become enormously familiar with the people he was trapped between against his will.

He endured the same story at least a dozen times from a tall old man with a wispy moustache, getting more and more dull with each iteration. Then there were the brothers both in front and behind him who ignored him completely; instead they were arguing over the most trivial of subjects; a girl, who was the favourite, who out of the two of them would reborn a heroic knight and the other a lowly peasant.

As amusing as their antics were for the first two minutes, the overstimulation from those three as well as the other two he was actually travelling with quickly wore down his mood. It hadn't helped the fact he was still a victim to his sodden clothes, which had stopped profusely dripping by now but were no less fighting off any sense of warmth.

Orryn himself had somehow fallen asleep leaning against a very tall and very wide woman who seemed quite fond of him, patting his hair as he drooled across her shoulder. I wish I had his sketching skills to capture this. Landry thought, his eyes meeting Mal's, both fighting off the temptation to break out into laughter at the ordeal. She'd been quite crafty, having decided to climb up to one of the supports of the Lift and sitting down on it, everybody below her envious of her comfort and her relaxed legs. The other Lifts were at about the same height as them, some a little lower and some others a little higher. Each of them were as packed as this one, with people practically about to overflow out of the sides it would have been a comical sight to Landry if he wasn't one of them.

The sounds of the city above were quite clear at this point, being only a few metres from where they would depart. The chatter of thousands of people, the trot of horses, the creaking of the branches, the sound of wagon wheels turning all formed a choir of the bustling daily activity, something that Landry found quite comforting. A soft orange light pierced through the gaps in the leaves around the Lift, each rotation of the pulleys creating a new silhouette across their faces. Between the trunks of the trees, Landry was able to make out the same yellow lighthouse which had first greeted him at the village docks. It looked so large then. It was true, it was little more than a yellow speck against the broad blue-green canvas of Lake Laga, a subtle reminder of how far they'd travelled through the night.

As quickly as the sight of the lighthouse had come, it disappeared behind the upper parts of the Lift, the last short leg of the journey upwards until they could all finally escape the cramped contraption. With the loud familiar creaking of the pulleys, they gradually came to a stop in front of a large platform that was a metre or two away from the lift. After that, there was a large metal arched gate, guarded by several uniformed men. It was peculiar, and as the operator pulled the lever to lower the front portion of the Lift they all rushed off of it. As Landry was pushed forward, he noticed the large gap as he stepped over - it was a steep drop that he couldn't quite make the bottom of. It was just a void of green. Soon enough he was tugged at the elbow, Mal locking her arm through his and doing the same to Orryn to direct them through the tidal wave of those eager to reach the city.

"We have to pay the entry fee." Orryn called out as they hurried towards an arched window with what looked to be quite a bored man behind. As they stopped in front of it, he slowly slid a metal hatch to the side and glumly asked, "Business or pleasure?"

"Sorry?" He asked, nervously reaching into a leather pouch, unsuccessfully trying to grasp the coins within.

The man leaned forward, his furrowed brow nearly pressed against the metal bars of the window, his mouth directly at the hatch. "Business..." He began, pausing as he gazed upon the three, "...Or pleasure?"

"Well, you see I'm an apprentice at Saint Lucent's, and I've got an expedition that-"

"Business." The man confirmed, pulling out three small scrolls and stamping them with a blue sigil. Landry chuckled as he saw how Orryn had froze in his tracks, a slight twitch at his eye.

"It'll be a crescent for each of you." A small slot opened at the bottom of the window, "Or ten motes each. However you prefer to pay."

"Right, well let's see here..." Orryn continued to root around in his bag until he pulled out a single grey crescent-shaped coin and slid it into the slot. After that, he began counting several small bronze coins with holes in the middle and slid twenty of them into the slot to follow.

"Is a mixture okay?" He asked.

"It's the same value." The man shrugged, pushing the three scrolls through the hatch he had spoken through. Each took a scroll for themselves, Landry tucking his into his belt.

"What exactly are these?" He asked Orryn as they began to walk towards the gate.

"Entry permits, if you don't have one they'll lock you up." He paused, handing his scroll to a guard, "Or worse... Throw you out." After getting a nod and being given the permit back, the other two were quickly checked and allowed to step in line before the large metal gate. After a few minutes of waiting, the guards stepped behind the line to block off anyone else passing as the gate was pulled down, scraping enormously as it did so.

Once they were through the gate the wooden street in front of them was as busy as the Lift had been, with all sorts of different people going in all sorts of different directions all at the same time. As the three stepped out, walking away from the trunk of the tree, they were able to notice the rising city above them and the countless bridges that crossed over each other with every level. Landry almost felt nauseous at the size of it all, it went up further than he could see, and he couldn't begin to imagine how wide it was. I'm an ant. Smaller than an ant. A grain of sand. They were at the edge of an extremely wide road, with tall buildings at either side. What was odd, but didn't surprise Landry was the colour palette in Virevale, and the materials. Everything was one of two main colours - often both - brown and green. The buildings that were on the edge of the trunk were carved into it, meaning you could count the rings of the trees age and every part was the same as every other part. On the other side of the road however, it was far more scrappy and improvised. Thousands - if that- of wooden planks, beams and everything in-between were used to make these buildings which felt far more familiar to Landry.

Even though there was little of any other colour, little specks and pieces were all over the place being what people who had come to Virevale brought with them, or what trade came to the city. There were banners, tarpaulins, flags, bunting, rugs, curtains, paintings and countless other items which the locals used to spice up their homes and businesses all in every colour you could imagine. In this regard, the city was alive. However, the city was also quite literally alive. Despite large sections of its trunk being hollowed out, the ancient tree that housed the city stood both defiant and merciful. For some reason it had avoided the main structures, but smaller branches and vines had spread around and actually acted as extra support. This is where the green came from within Virevale, the countless that covered the walls, the leaves that some used as natural roofing and the smaller branches that grew all over the inner and outer walls of the city.

"I can't even begin to imagine how old this tree is!" Orryn said in amazement, "It would take me, or even a full group of apprentices years to count the rings."

"What rings?" Landry asked as he looked around, half expecting to see a bunch of gold or silver.

"The rings within their trunks, it shows the periods of growth through the summer and winter."

"Fascinating..." Maliah grumbled to which Orryn rolled his eyes.

Just as the three were gazing above, they were nearly hit by a large cart pulled by an ox. Only it wasn't an ox at all, as it had four horns, the front legs of an eagle and the hind legs and tail of a lion. All of this, with two extremely large feathered wings on it's back as the cherry on top.

"Watch yourselves!" The man who held the reins yelled as he pulled them to the side, veering the cart away from them. Sliding to a stop, the beast in front groaned in annoyance.

"That was a griffin!" Exclaimed Orryn, a beaming smile on his face as he pulled out his sketchbook and began to frantically begin drawing the creature.

"I'm sorry, we're not from here." Landry told the driver as he made his way across, to which he chuckled in response.

"Well, you have the look of tourists, lad." Patting him on the shoulder, the man would point with his other hand to an elevated platform above the road with a large line going all the way up. It seemed to meet with other platforms, and there was a couple of people waiting at each one.

"It'd take forever if we had to climb up the damn city. The tether-lifts get us where we need to go, near enough."

"Thank you." Landry said as he was about to head back to the others, however a firm clasp of his shoulder stopped him. The man had a particularly long and ill-kempt beard which lightly brushed against Landry's skin as the man leaned down. Leaning backwards he wanted desperately to escape, being reminded of how the humpback Lug had talked to him only the day before.

"You be careful in Virevale, y'here?" He muttered, "Stay off this level, it's the Bottom. The Middle is more suited to tourists..."

"Yes, sir." Landry nodded, appreciating the advise and concern, but slightly worried as to the seriousness in the man's tone.

"Now, whatever you do, stay away from the top. The Canopy ain't a place anyone wants to be."

"Why?" Landry asked, looking up at the man with furrowed brows. Just as the man was about to open his mouth to speak, the sharp ping of a harp string being pulled interrupted. As the two turned their heads, they were met with an elderly Adraskian woman in traditional garments; an orange cloth headdress which concealed her hair from view, a fine blue dress with intricate geometric patterns in red and black and a piece of jewellery Landry had never seen before. A golden chain that covered the lower portion of her face, connected in almost a web-like arrangement. She was looking at the two of them, and smiled as she continued to play music from her homeland. It's a long way from Adraskia... That's on the southern edge of the Eastern Continent, I think. I wonder what brought her here?

The two men slowly turned back to one another, "It's cursed." His subtle smile had disappeared, and he clutched Landry's collar with his other hand, pulling him so close that each breath he took was clear. "People disappear." He paused, a shake in his voice, "They go up, they don't come down. Do you understand me, boy?"

Holding onto the mans wrist, he nodded, "I understand you. Stay away from the Canopy."

"Good, lad." The man raised his chin, looking over Landry's shoulder towards Orryn and Mal, "Get back to your friends now. Keep 'em on the straight and narrow." Releasing Landry, the man sat up straight and pulled at the reins, leading the griffin away and continuing on their original path down the road. A hum came from the lantern on his belt, causing him to draw his cloak over it further. Shut up. It didn't heed, it's soft melodic whispering continued, sounding similar to a very faint whistle in a cave. An echo.

"A cursed city? This only gets more and more wonderful." Landry muttered to himself. He looked back to the woman, noticing her music stop, but surprisingly enough she had disappeared along with the large harp she was playing. Looking over his shoulder to try and find her, he had no luck.

A few moments later and he was back with the other two, leading them to the platform the driver had described. There was a small metal spiral staircase, rusted from age and the mud off of the bottom of countless of boots on each step. Mal quickly pushed forward, skipping a step with each stride and Orryn was particularly slow as he carefully planned each of his own steps; his robes had gained far too much mud on them. Landry found himself awkwardly in the middle, however it wasn't too long until they were each standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the platform, awaiting the next tether-lift.

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Surprisingly enough, the thing that arrived didn't make nearly as much noise as the larger Lifts had made, instead an ornate wooden bench with a canopy snuck up besides them, attached to the line by a hook and a knot. The three weren't overly pleased as they sat down on it, it's creaks were the least of their issues for what was far more unsettling was the lack of anything to stop them from falling off if they leant too far forward. It was more akin to an overgrown play-swing, and as it took off from the ground it swung back and forth gently uncomfortably, reminiscent of one. Mal had her eyes tightly shut, and being sat in the middle had her arms tightly intertwined with both Orryn's and Landry's, something the two couldn't help but lightly chuckle at.

Landry's lamp hummed as it swung back and forth on his belt, Landry ignoring it but catching the attention of Orryn. It's 'hums' were more similar to whispers of an incomprehensible language, it's red light barely visible from the edges of the cloak, unsuccessfully hidden within. Nonetheless, it didn't just make Landry uncomfortable with its creepy noises, Mal was looking at it through the corner of her eye.

Biting his lip, Orryn couldn't help himself, "What is that thing, anyways, Landry?" his eyes glued. The red reflected in his yellow eyes, forming an unsettling shade of orange which reminded Landry of his own eyes.

"It's an old lantern..." Landry said, his eyes darting as if they could help him escape the subject.

"But where did you get it from?"

"I can't exactly remember... I lost it for a while, but then I had it given back." Which wasn't entirely true, although Landry couldn't be sure. There were occasions he had dreams of how he got it, and in every one the context was the same. It was a gift. He didn't want to think of those who gave it to him. With a quiet hiss, the flame inside swirled around before pressing against the glass, like a rat in a cage.

"A gift," Landry muttered, his hand instinctively brushing the lantern as if to silence it. He didn't elaborate, and Orryn's curiosity waned under the weight of his tone.

Noticing the awkwardness in the conversation, Orryn decided to change the subject. However, only slightly: "What about your sword? It looks old, and I've never seen someone swing around bronze so fast - especially in water."

His sword he was far less protective over the origin of, and so as to heed to Orryn's insatiable curiosity he unsheathed it and passed it over. Surprised at his willingness, he clasped the blade by its handle and was surprised by its light weight.

"What's it made of?"

"I'm not sure, I never really questioned it. It looks like bronze though."

"Does it have a name?"

Of course it did, such a fine blade was the work of master blacksmith and for it to lack a name would have been a crime. The memory of an old man showing it to Landry appeared in his mind, his skin almost the same grey colour as his hair. He was explaining something, probably the history around the same blade he held in his hands. He remembered looking up at him, barely as tall as the man's leg but his eyes almost a mirror of his own; like a pool of cooling lava. Only one fact stuck however.

"Seething."

"That's a rather aggressive name." Orryn remarked as he turned the sword on its side, revealing the fine engravings across the orange-gold metal with symbols and patterns he wasn't entirely familiar with. However, in a blink of an eye Orryn had the flat of the blade very close to his face, a fine eyepiece lens held over it. He looks like some sort of crazed jeweller.

"What are these cracks all over it?" He asked, turning the blade on its other side to look at a similar - although different - set of markings and patterns.

"What are you talking about?" Landry asked, beckoning for the blade and looking at it closely once it was in his hands again. How haven't I noticed these? All across the blade, hilt and even the pommel were a web of tiny cracks as if it had been dropped and glued back together. Or rather, if it were about to break. What was more unsettling however was the fact the these were no ordinary cracks, they moved around in random slow patterns, as if it were a fluid mosaic. The cracks shimmered faintly, like molten veins coursing through the blade, shifting as if alive.

What are you? The sword didn't make him feel particularly uneasy, however his curiosity was peaked. He was especially surprised he had never noticed it before, but in fairness it had normally been sheathed.

"I never noticed." What an idiot I am, he gets it for two seconds and notices immediately... "It's an old sword. Probably all the wear and tear." An old sword was an understatement, his memory wasn't clear but he was sure it was near enough ancient. When he was young, far younger than his time in Morden, he remembered how it was always on display on a fine pedestal, a small plaque attached. Caedmon. That was who the sword belonged to originally.

"It can't be bronze." Orryn declared, "It's far too light, and those cracks move. That must be an enchantment of sorts, or the qualities of some material I'm not familiar with." Unsurprisingly, he had his notebook out again and was writing something Landry didn't care enough to lean over and read.

"It's a family sword." He finally admitted, "I inherited it."

"Your family's? Who are they?" Orryn asked, never having imagined that this boy with messy hair, wet clothes and no shoes could have come from a family that would own an item such as this.

"Were." He said, his gaze dropping to the bustling streets below, "All that's in the past now."

Orryn nodded, "Sorry, I don't mean to force it out of you. Old things - history - it really excites me."

Maliah leant back, clearing her throat, "He's always been a bit of an anomaly. Ever since we were young." Ever since we were young. His chest tightened, the memories of Morden, the high cave ceiling that blotted out the sky far above. He had hated that place, hated what went on there. I was so pale then.

After a few moments of silence, the tether-lift came to a slow stop. They had reached the Middle, visible distinct from the lower levels as it seemed far more cramped - the roads were rather skinny, two carts would scrape wheels if going either direction. The buildings here though were far finer, not quite as extravagant as in cities like Cleon or Renna but they seemed more planned. It was clear an architect had been used for this area of the city, with tall buildings, some even made from brick that sported many thin balconies on which many people hung their clothes on lines or decorated them with whatever memorabilia they had from their home country: fine Adraskian rugs, Zalafoldian wood carvings, Cleonthan ornate mouldings, Northern folk art, Elduiran tapestries and even some more that he couldn't recognise.

Sliding off the seat, Landry and Orryn helped Mal off of it, giving a small yelp of alarm as it swung back over the large drop. It was far, the wide street below being one of at least a dozen, mostly brown but with moving specks of colour; it looked like an ever-moving beehive. A maze of brown and green, it created a pit in Landry's stomach and he had to take a step back from the ledge.

"He's caught your fear too." Orryn chuckled, to which he received a gentle thump from Mal, a small smile on her face.

"I didn't realise such a thing was contagious," she retorted, "It is a long way down..."

"Welcome to the Middle!" Loudly said the wiry lift operator, sporting thinning red hair and a stained vest, "I'd advise you keep your friends close and your pockets closer!" Giving a short bow, the three walked past him and gave him a nod of thanks. Merchants shouted their wares from stalls that clung to the wooden walkways like barnacles, and children darted between the crowds, their laughter echoing above the streets.

Things in the Middle were far slower and relaxed when compared with the chaos Below, and besides the merchants it seemed that the only souls about were children, even despite it being the later hours of the evening. Two of them ran in front of the three, a brown haired boy and a black haired girl. It sent a shiver down Landry's spine, with their backs turned it reminded him of what once was. What he gave up. He looked over to Maliah, but her steely eyes were already there and for a moment both were locked. What is she thinking? The next moment they faltered and it was over. The two children ran on, continuing on whatever imaginary adventure they were on.

"Come on, the house should be down this street," Orryn said hurriedly, dodging past a small group of children who seemed to recognise him. Should be? Oh, he hasn't been in the city before either. Perfect. As Landry followed suit, he caught sight of a wooden sign that hung from one of the many small branches that jutted out of the walls of the city. Linden Loft Lane. Something from a storybook. The writing was delicately carved, the yellow paint that covered it rather faded from age. Walking down the street, Landry was surprised that the road had been paved, only with faux cobblestones; rather what was beneath his feet seemed to be off cuts of wood with sap resin filling in the gaps.

With each building passed they gradually got shorter, slowly transforming from high city buildings to houses and finally once the three were on the outskirts of the city - rather close to the edge of Virevale - they could see the rest of the forest below. As the three walked on, Landry noticed how none of the houses were in numerical order. It started with 3, then 54, 19, 8 and so on. None of it made sense, but in fairness not much about the city had made sense up to this point.

All the three could do was continue on their path down the whirling street, until they were at the very edge of the city; only a rickety bannister kept them from plummeting to their deaths. There was only one thing left, and that was more unstable than the bannister. Don't tell me that's the house.

Before the three hung a small wooden sign nailed into the bannister, the number seven messily notched into it with what was probably a kitchen knife. Besides it was a gate hanging from a single hinge, the other lay beneath having fallen off. Behind was something that tried to be a house. Instead of the solid floor that every other house was built upon, this small cottage perilously hung over the forest below, held up by stilts and supports that didn't give any of the three a sense of comfort.

Orryn had a frown as he gazed up at the house, lingering at the gate with only on thought going through his mind.

"I didn't expect this..." He said to himself, yearning for the comforts of his school back in Zalafold.

Landry shrugged as he walked up beside him, "It doesn't look too bad." He hesitated, he knew he was lying. I've seen worse. Been in worse. "It's fine." He chuckled, with a reassuring pat to the back.

Orryn shook his head, his blond hair that was once neat waving as he did so, "Fine? This place looks like it's gonna fall apart the moment we step inside," he complained as he gestured at it's structure.

Landry however rolled his eyes, he wasn't entirely interested in the state of it as his limbs ached too much. "Where I grew up, it'd be considered luxury."

"Luxury?" He grit his teeth in an attempt to hide his discomfort, "If this is luxury, I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

With a glance to Orryn he took a step back, "You'll get used to it. Or you won't. Doesn't really matter." A smirk rose on his face, something about someone so used to luxury seeing a different corner of the world gave him some satisfaction. I'm a hypocrite. Still. That was another life.

Shaking his head, Orryn just moved the gate with the tip of his finger, "I just— I didn't expect... this." He paused, looking at the broken gate and the leaning structure, then softens, "I didn't expect it to be... this bad."

Landry looked at him, there stood someone he knew he could of ended up just like. A possible future. A what if. It wasn't his fault though, nor was it Landry's. He couldn't help but feel empathetic, "Welcome back to the real world, Orr."

"You sound just like my father," he chuckled. "Home sweet home..." Orryn whispered to himself, taking a few moments to prepare himself before he swung the gate open and made his way up the wooden steps - creaking beneath his feet - until he reached the door in front of him. A painted door. It was yellow, and looked like the paint applied was recent. As he reached into his pocket he pulled out a small silver key and slid it into the key hole. With a turn and a satisfying pop, he pushed the door open to reveal an old, fraying tapestry hung crookedly on one wall, and a pile of mismatched boots cluttered a corner near the door.

Landry helped Mal up the steps, each time her eyes catching a glimpse of the fall between each step her grip tightening on Landry's forearm. Once they had travelled through the crooked doorway and Orryn had lit an oil lamp, revealing the rest of the house to them. At the end of the main room was a small log burner, empty and lifeless despite the small stack of firewood besides it. With each breeze, which were quite powerful at this height, the house gently rocked back and forth like a rocking chair, however it only made Landry feel slightly sick. What kind of house is this? Whatever. I just need a bed.

As soon as Landry had stepped through the door, a wave of aches and fatigue washed over him. Unbuckling his lantern, he left it on top of the wood burner, his sword leaning against it.

"You two can sleep in my room, there's a bed in there and a chair. There's also a-" However he was cut off by Landry's groan as he laid down on the rug in the middle of the main room, pulling his cloak over him.

"This'll do fine," he quietly said being basked in the soft red light of his lantern, "You two can take the bed and chair."

"If you insist." Orryn said, walking over to a ladder on the other end of the room, climbing up it to a small space above where his room was. Mal gave Landry a look, however his eyes were already closed, and so she followed up the ladder.

"I'm taking the bed." She ordered, before she disappeared over the edge and Landry was left in silence. Almost silence.

His lantern continued to complain and struggle, it was far louder with nothing else to overpower it.

Open it. Free us. Let us burn. It pleaded, it's voice resonating in his mind. It was the voice that had unrelentingly haunted his mind for all the years he had owned it, tempting him to open it. I can't. Not again. The results, always the same. Ash and bone. Smoke and sorrow. Rubble and regret.

Scratch. Tap. Tap, tap, tap. What is that? A rat? Landry opened his eyes, but without the light from his lantern he couldn't see a thing - the oil lamp had gone out. Who did that? I didn't notice.

Tap. Tap, tap, tap. Footsteps.

"Who's there?" He whispered, being met with no response. He was unsettled, but decided not to press on. I must be imagining things. I'm tired. From then, it was truly silent. He exhaled, eyes drooping as the lantern's glow dimmed to a faint flickering like a dying heartbeat. He told himself it was just the wind, not footsteps. Not a whisper. His lantern had surrendered it's attempts, and he finally drifted off to sleep. Right before he did though, he heard one last thing.

"Help us... Free us..." The words - not of the lantern - came sharp and trembling, warm against his ear, as if someone were right beside him.