Artemisia returned to the walls to find that utter havoc had broken out amongst the Youngbloods. Admittedly, this was a very normal thing, and she managed to break up the madness with practiced ease, sending the source of this squabble - two cannoneer crews getting into a debate about shift rotations that rapidly escalated out of control - out to go cool down while the rest of the faction patched themselves up. Artemisia retreated to her tower to go draw up a new schedule to ensure that this didn’t happen again (although she knew that it probably would; Youngbloods were a tempestuous lot, albeit understandably. You’d be grumpy too if you were perpetually trapped in puberty). The moon had already risen by the time she was done, bathing Flax in its eerie pale light. Artemisia shook out her sore wrist and stretched before making her way over to the windowsill and gazing out over the city.
Each district was illuminated with patches of their own color, with even the wastes and the twin peaks framing the harbor dotted with specks of light. She watched as a Windwalker soared past her window on hawk’s wings, the air distorting around him as it carried him higher and higher into the sky.
Her observations were interrupted by a tapping sound. Artemisia glanced down at the bottom of the window frame, where she saw a small bat repeatedly banging its head against the window. Artemisia opened it and the tiny creature flew inside, quickly transforming into a familiar face.
Neith straightened and dusted out her skirts. “That was a rough flight! Rougher than I expected, at least. The Windwalkers are having quite the time tonight.”
“What are you doing here?” Artemisia asked.
“Well, I was going to come here to paint, but unfortunately it’s a little hard to carry materials in bat form, so I figured that I might as well spend some time with you!”
Artemisia, if she was being perfectly honest, would’ve rather spent the night alone, but the look of sheer, energetic joy on Neith’s face made her resolve crumble. She scooted aside on the window seat and Neith joined her there, wrapping her arms around her neck and resting her chin on her shoulder.
“It’s nice out there,” Neith noted. “The moon’s bright, the air’s clear and cold, the wind’s…well, the wind is terrible, but besides that, it’s nice.”
“I’m sure it is,” Artemisia replied, resting her hand over her chest where Neith’s hands were clasped together.
They sat there, just sort of basking in the silence and comfort of each other until Artemisia drifted off to sleep. When she woke the next morning, Neith was gone, leaving behind a note and a plate of flat cakes.
Last night was nice. I hope I see you again soon, the note read. Don’t burn yourself out, dear.
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Later that day, Artemisia made her way to the Hollows, accompanied by a few others - namely Concordia, Neith, and a very grumpy Bonnie.
“I don’t see why I had to be brought along,” Bonnie whined. “All I did was steal the amulet.”
“That’s exactly why we’re bringing you along,” Neith said cheerfully, adjusting her veiled hat.
The Hollows were one of the districts of Flint. Flint was Flax’s twin of sorts, except it was built in the numerous caverns and tunnels under its sibling and somehow managed to be even stranger. There was quite a bit of debate between the two cities over who was there first, with Flint declaring that they’d been there since before Flax and Flax claiming that an underground colony of sentient earth dragons didn’t count as habitation. Either way, the city was there and it was there to stay.
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The entrance to the Hollows lay near the gates. It was a series of openings, each one as deep as a watchtower and as wide as the base of a house, and all but one of them descended sharply into the darkness.
The group descended into the damp shadows of Flint’s entrance. Their path was lit by sputtering ever-burning torches, causing Neith to mutter something about having a word with Flint’s much more powerful city council about road maintenance.
After several hours of walking, they entered an underground chamber fathoms high and miles wide. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like teeth, their sides pockmarked with glowing holes and bridges. Ships and aircraft supported by balloons drifted between them, carrying their inhabitants where the bridges couldn’t reach. Far below, an underground lake clashed with the earth dragons’ burrows, creating a swampy mess on which only dragons and hoverships dared to tread. Train tracks ran along the edges of this oddness, and the group watched as a dark, heavily-armored train sped along them to parts unknown, its dark shell giving it a superficial resemblance to a centipede. The group stared in awe for the briefest of moments before a sudden voice snapped them out of it.
“The road’s that way.”
They spun around, finding themselves face-to-face with a Spelunker. They were tall for a Spelunker, with narrow shoulders and arms that were thin but muscular, much like a dancer’s. A soiled deepsuit - a life-support system meant to keep them alive and safe in the very depths of the merciless tunnels - hung from their frame, and a gas mask dangled around their neck. Their dark, almost beady eyes scanned them with more than a little bit of judgment.
Artemisia cleared her throat. “I’m very sorry, but would you mind pointing us in the direction of the Hollows?”
The Spelunker quirked an eyebrow. “What’s in it for me, prissy pants?”
Artemisia recoiled from the hostility, her hand reaching for her sword. She wasn’t above threats if it came to it, although fortunately it didn’t because Bonnie pushed her way between Artemisia and the Spelunker.
“Let me handle this,” Bonnie snapped. She turned to face the Spelunker. “Alright, listen here. These three have a lot of money and nowhere to spend it, and they’d be perfectly happy to share it with you if you’ll give ‘em directions to the Hollows so they can find some swindling Tinker.”
“Bonnie,” Artemisia hissed.
“I know what I’m doin’!” Bonnie shot back. She turned back to the Spelunker, who now had a considerate expression on their face.
“How much money?” they asked.
Bonnie grinned broadly. “Lots.” She whirled around to face Neith. “You got a coin purse on you, Draculina?”
Neith looked a little hurt at the nickname, but pulled a pouch from a pocket in her dress lining. The chiming of coins could clearly be heard, muffled slightly by the thick fabric.
The Spelunker’s eyes widened. They snatched the purse from Neith, an expression none too dissimilar to that of a racoon that snatched a whole sandwich from someone crossing their face. They shoved it in their pocket and held out their hand.
“Melia Munderson. Call me Mel,” they said, their hostility all but gone.
Bonnie grinned and shook their hand. “Bonnie Mantle. These are Artemisia, Neith, and Concordia.”
“Pleasure doing business with you fine surfacers,” Mel said. “Now, Hollows, was it?”
Artemisia nodded. “Yes. Do you know where it is?”
“Know? Know?” Mel cackled. “I live there! It’s just a little ways’ down the road, no further than the worm walks.”
“Worms don’t walk,” Neith pointed out.
“That’s the point. It’s so close a worm could walk there.”
Mel started trudging down the tunnel, their boots squishing with every step. The group exchanged looks, then followed them.
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Bonnie and Mel hit it off almost immediately, chattering enthusiastically with each other about things that were most likely illegal. The other three surfacers tagged along behind them, still confused about this strange place.
Mel led them down a rocky, steep tunnel. They trudged through it for a while; going by the tool marks on the walls, it was once much smaller and was carved out for others’ convenience. Finally, they emerged into an enormous cavern made up of two parts. The first was an enormous, near-perfect duplicate of Flax itself, sprawled amidst glowing mushrooms and crystals. Its streets swarmed just as much as the city above. The second was a city of crystals hanging from the ceiling, structures carved into the brightly-glowing stalactites.
It was, for lack of a better word, spectacular.
They stood there for a little while, taking in the breathtaking sight of the world below. Then Mel, who was most likely used to it and had already traveled a good twenty feet ahead, stopped and turned back to them.
“You coming?!” they shouted.
The group snapped out of it and ran after them; Mel shook their head and grumbled something about tourists.