Artemis followed Rhea through the winding alleys of Eidolon, the city’s oppressive atmosphere bearing down on her. The deeper they delved into the underbelly of the metropolis, the more the world seemed to twist and transform. Shadows grew darker, sounds sharper. The chaotic din of the marketplace faded, replaced by the hum of machinery and the occasional murmur of voices.

Rhea moved quickly, weaving through narrow passageways with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before. Artemis struggled to keep up, her mind racing with questions. Who was this Viola? How did she rule a place as vast as Eidolon’s undercity? And, most pressingly, what would she want in exchange for answers?

They stopped at a rusted grate embedded into the side of a building. Rhea knelt down, pulling a hidden lever near the base. With a groan, the grate slid open, revealing a steep staircase spiraling downward.

“This way,” Rhea said, her voice hushed. “Keep quiet. There’s always someone listening.”

The warning sent a chill through Artemis. She stepped inside, the air instantly cooler and tinged with the metallic scent of damp steel.

The stairs seemed to stretch endlessly downward, lit only by flickering bulbs encased in protective cages. The sound of dripping water echoed off the walls, adding to the eerie ambiance. As they descended, Artemis became acutely aware of the hum of machinery growing louder. It wasn’t just the city above—this place was alive, its mechanical heart beating somewhere deep within.

At last, they emerged into a cavernous space illuminated by a mixture of dim lanterns and neon lights. The undercity sprawled out before them, a chaotic network of platforms, bridges, and tunnels. Makeshift homes were constructed from scrap metal and discarded parts, stacked precariously on top of one another. Pipes crisscrossed overhead, some leaking steam, others glowing faintly with an unearthly blue light.

The people of the undercity moved like phantoms, their faces obscured by masks or hidden beneath tattered cloaks. Automatons worked alongside humans, their movements fluid yet unnervingly precise. Children darted through the crowd, laughing as they chased one another over precarious walkways.

“Stay close,” Rhea whispered. “The undercity’s safer than the streets above, but it has its own rules. People down here don’t take kindly to strangers.”

Artemis nodded, clutching the notebook tightly. Her senses were on high alert, every noise and shadow a potential threat.

They navigated through the labyrinthine undercity, crossing rickety bridges and descending narrow ladders. The further they went, the more Artemis noticed the details—graffiti scrawled on walls in a language she didn’t recognize, the faint hum of an unseen power source, the glint of eyes watching from the darkness.

Eventually, they reached a large, circular chamber. The space was dominated by a towering mechanical contraption—a clockwork structure of gears, pistons, and rotating arms. It stood at the center like a monument, its constant movement mesmerizing. Around it, a crowd had gathered, their faces turned upward in reverence or curiosity.

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“She’s here,” Rhea said, nodding toward the base of the machine.

Artemis followed her gaze and saw a woman standing with her back to the crowd. Viola.

She was tall and imposing, her presence commanding attention even from a distance. Her dark hair was cut short, streaked with silver, and her clothing was a patchwork of leather and metal, blending practicality with a hint of elegance. A faint blue glow emanated from a device embedded into her forearm, its light pulsing in time with the machine behind her.

Viola turned, her sharp, angular features illuminated by the glow. Her eyes—one a natural hazel, the other a cybernetic lens—swept over the crowd before settling on Artemis and Rhea.

“Well, well,” she said, her voice smooth and tinged with amusement. “What do we have here?”

Rhea stepped forward hesitantly. “Viola, this is Artemis. She… helped me. I thought you’d want to meet her.”

Viola’s gaze shifted to Artemis, scrutinizing her with an intensity that made her feel exposed. “Helped you, did she? That’s rare enough in this city. And why, pray tell, would someone like her be wandering the streets above?”

Artemis held Viola’s gaze, refusing to flinch. “I’m looking for answers,” she said. “About myself. About this.” She held up the notebook, the word Symphony glaring from its cover.

Viola’s expression didn’t change, but her cybernetic eye flickered, the lens rotating as if scanning the object. “Interesting,” she murmured. “Very interesting.”

The crowd murmured, curious but cautious. Viola raised a hand, silencing them instantly.

“You have the look of someone who’s been through hell,” Viola said, stepping closer. “And yet, you’re still standing. That tells me you’re either incredibly lucky or incredibly dangerous.”

Artemis clenched her fists. “I didn’t come here to threaten anyone. I just want to know what this is and why people are hunting me for it.”

Viola studied her for a moment longer before nodding. “Follow me. This isn’t a conversation for the open.”

She turned and began walking toward a narrow passage at the edge of the chamber. Rhea nudged Artemis, motioning for her to follow.

The passage led to a small, dimly lit room filled with monitors, blueprints, and shelves lined with strange devices. Viola gestured for Artemis to sit, while Rhea lingered near the door.

“Symphony,” Viola said, leaning against the table. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in years.”

Artemis’s heart skipped a beat. “You know what it is?”

Viola nodded slowly. “It’s not a what. It’s a who. Or rather, it was.”

Artemis’s confusion deepened. “What do you mean?”

“Symphony was a project,” Viola explained. “A Consortium experiment to create a new kind of intelligence—something beyond human, beyond machine. It was supposed to be their masterpiece. But it… escaped.”

Artemis’s mind reeled. “Escaped? How?”

“No one knows,” Viola said. “What we do know is that the Consortium didn’t take kindly to losing their prized creation. They’ve been hunting it ever since.”

Artemis looked down at the notebook, the weight of its significance suddenly heavier. “And me? What does this have to do with me?”

Viola’s expression darkened. “That, I can’t say. But if you’re tied to Symphony, then you’ve just made yourself the most wanted person in Eidolon. The Consortium won’t stop until they have you—and whatever’s in that notebook—back under their control.”

Artemis felt a chill run through her. She had escaped the lab, but she was far from safe.

Viola leaned forward, her cybernetic eye glowing faintly. “If you want to survive, you’ll need allies. Resources. And most importantly, you’ll need to learn how to fight back.”

Artemis met her gaze, determination hardening in her chest. “Then show me how.”