Shatterhold was the easternmost city on the Third Story and the closest to one of the only two Jaws on this floor.

Over a million people piled up among the shattered ruins, fighting daily for the floor's sparse resources.

Originally, more than half of its inhabitants were said to be direct descendants of refugees from the other floors, who had seen their exit barred when trying to move to the Outside. But after more than a millennium, most of the floor dwellers had inherited the characteristic pale skin and dark hair of those who lived under the eternal night.

The floor’s resources had always been scarce, but their life had improved in the last two hundred years.

The Third Floor was special. It was the only known floor with the Outskirts directly connected to a floor’s crossroads, meaning an Author didn’t have to venture into the maze's dangers to reach the Outskirts.

With the rise of the Syndicate, a seat at the Keepers' table was offered to the Third Floor dwellers, and with the support of some powerful Authors, they succeeded in pushing for the construction of Aeymenchuk Prison on the First Floor.

The construction of Aeymenchuk Prison, coupled with Shatterhold’s prime location, resulted in most of the infrastructure on the barren First floor being moved into a new district in Shatterhold, where there was much more space for expansion.

The Authors’ District, or the Hub, as it was more commonly called, was a prime zone within the city. It bustled with commerce and businesses, funded mainly by the Syndicate and independent entrepreneurs.

The Hub was strangely clean despite Shatterhold being built in the middle of the desert that ruled the third floor.

Its streets were paved with white, rectangular-shaped stones and adorned with stunning buildings made of polished limestone. Most were coated in extravagant, bright, blood-red colors—produced only by rare pigments, briefly obtainable during flood season.

Tall glass lamps hung from golden metal brackets fixed to the buildings, and a small, ethereal flame burned inside them.

The sharp contrast between the Hub and the city's other districts was appalling. And yet, for most commoners, life was better than before.

The Keepers helped to finance the economy through common trade, luxuries, and Author equipment and services, and ever since the influx of migrants had been cut, generalized famine was rare despite the dwellers' poor conditions.

And it will continue to be so as long as it serves its purpose, Nova concluded, kicking away a pebble that crossed his path.

What most dwellers failed to realize was that they were now one additional floor away from reaching the Outside.

Not only that but with the creation of the Hub, many of the Keepers’ shady deals were now conducted inside the city, most of the time with disastrous consequences for the dwellers.

Additionally, due to the withdrawal of the Syndicate’s military force–a condition imposed by the Keepers in exchange for a seat at their table–Shatterhold lacked a strong, independent force to maintain public order.

This resulted in a struggle for power, as local gangs and outside agents struggled for control of the city. As their fight for power intensified, the Keepers conveniently intervened and established a regional force on Shatterhold, the Stonewatch.

On the outside, it was a helpful organization—its ranks comprised mostly of dwellers, who received more than fair compensation, making it one of the most desirable jobs at Shatterhold.

In reality, the Keepers had created a dweller force that actively prevented their own from revolting and fleeing. Ironically, the dwellers barred their own from escaping to the Outside.

It was a cursed destiny, one that caused an ironic smile to appear on Nova’s lips.

He spat on the sand as a patrol of five Stonewatch guards passed by him. The disciplined men ignored his cheap provocation and kept walking forward, undisturbed.

The Keepers had trained them well enough not to fall for shallow provocations. After all, all the Movement needed to ignite another uprising was a small spark. The news of a man brutally murdered by the Stonewatch would spread like wildfire, quickly lighting the dormant fires of revolt within the dwellers.

Cowards! Nova insulted them as he cut the corner into a messy street.

Messy sandstone shacks piled up left and right, most of them with cracked fulgurites — remnants of the past flood seasons.

Waving between the houses was a narrow, dirty path so small that two men could not stand side by side.

The street was filled with the disgusting smell of human waste, enough to revolt the stomach of any new Author who strayed away from the Hub and got lost in the slums.

To Nova, it smelled like home.

People sat on the ground despite the dark, wet sand. Some lay inanimated in the middle of the path, forcing Nova to circle around to avoid stepping on them.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

His eyes paused on a sickly young man. He had a small, thin build, similar to a child’s, but Nova didn’t let that fool him.

In the slums, where food was scarce, it was not abnormal for people to grow underdeveloped. The man was probably past his twenties. Nova himself was already past thirty when the dark stubble on his face grew into a full beard.

The dark-haired, pale-skinned man lay with his back on the mud, his eyes closed. A purplish growth ran rampant on his face. It already occupied more than half of it, covering his left eye, nose, and mouth and extending down to his neck.

Despite his closed eyes, he seemed to have heard Nova approaching. He raised a dirty, trembling hand towards Nova and opened his mouth.

No sound came out, but Nova knew he was begging for a coin.

Nova noticed his half-rotten purple tongue, surrounded by black licorice teeth. Purple, cancerous growths were spreading through his gums and mouth, all the way to his throat.

The disease was already too advanced; even if Nova gave him food, the man would not be able to swallow it.

He is too weak. He’ll be dead by tomorrow.

Nova ignored the ruined man and kept walking forward. He felt pity for him, but such sights were a daily occurrence to those born on the Third floor.

Second only to the lack of food and the dangerous beasts that inhabited the stone forests, the ruined disease killed the most people.

It started slowly: a small, dark wart, so dark that it was hard to distinguish its purple color. Given a few weeks, however, it would spread through the body, rapidly evolving into a cancerous blob.

It corrupted one’s flesh, spreading corruption and taint within one’s body. It was a despairing, incurable disease that forced one to suffer for months on end. Their body decaying, slowly turning into an aberration of flesh.

Nova shivered.

He had been lucky enough to avoid the ruined’s disease so far, but if he ever got it, he would make sure to put an end to his life rapidly. To Nova, a quick death was the best way to go.

No one was sure what caused the disease. However, it only affected the natives of the Third floor. Even the dwellers who became Authors and never returned to the floor risked contracting it.

Nova stopped in front of a crooked door.

Sitting on the sand beside it, a little girl rested her head against the sandstone wall. She glanced at Nova with tired eyes but didn’t utter a word. He ignored her and opened the door, not bothering to knock.

The door opened to a small division that took up the space of the whole house. The cracked sandstone walls were bare, and the floor was made of sand. Unlike the sand on the street, however, this one was cleaner and dryer.

Nova shook the water droplets from his clothes and took off his boots.

The division was mostly empty, if not for seven stone-acorn mattresses hastily piled up against the left wall. On the opposite side, a one-armed boy sat on the floor by a pile of petrified wood logs, holding a small pickaxe with his single arm.

Birth defects were common among the dwellers, and as far as he knew, not even those in the Fifth Story could escape such a curse. Most of the time, it was a missing body part—a finger or two, maybe an arm if you were that unlucky.

But occasionally, true abominations would be born, and even those who managed to survive more than a few hours were rapidly put down. Having to feed a disabled child was too much for most dwellers to handle.

Unconsciously, Nova touched his missing ear.

He had heard things were different on the Outside. There, birth defects were rare. And even though there were diseases, there were fewer of them, and they were more easily treatable.

With a clang, the pickaxe struck a thick piece of petrified wood, breaking it right down the middle.

Despite his disability, the boy was hard at work. It took him no more than two strikes to split a log, and even though the pickaxe narrowly avoided his toes both times, the fact he still had all of his toes proved how practiced his movements were.

He used one foot to push the split wood onto a big pile and skillfully used the other to grab a new log. It was impressive to watch him grab the log easily using only his toes.

“Hello, Nap.” Nova greeted him, his voice louder than usual.

It took Nap a while to understand that someone was talking to him, but when he did, he turned around with a jump and a huge smile.

“Nova! Welcome back!” he shouted happily, dropping his pickaxe and running towards Nova, who welcomed the boy with open arms and hugged him with affection.

“I missed you so much!” Nap shouted again, causing Nova to frown.

“How long have the others been gone?” He asked.

Nova could tell when Nap was alone for an extended time. The boy rapidly forgot that he didn’t need to shout to be heard.

Nap’s shoulders dropped, and he glanced with guilt toward the floor, realizing his mistake.

“Three days. But they’ll be arriving soon.” Lied Nap, scratching his head.

Nova sighed. Nap had never been a good liar. “Nap!” warned Nova.

The boy struggled, nervously scratching his neck before confessing with shame.

“A week. No more than a week for sure, I promise!” he said, crossing his fingers above his chest in an awkward gesture.

Nova glanced displeased at the small piece of red yarn wrapped around Nap’s ring finger before adverting his gaze.

Shit! He cursed inwardly. I told them to avoid leaving the city during flood season.

“Did you know Ana is outside?” Asked Nova.

Nap’s face deflated, and his eyes filled with sadness. For the first time since he saw Nova, his smile wavered.

“Lil’ Ana has the ruined’ disease,” he said. “Gian told us it had already spread through her insides. Lil’ Ana should be gone any time now.”

Nova’s heart skipped a bit, and he clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his hands.

“Don’t worry, though. I’ve already promised her pops I’ll put her underground once the time comes,” Nap said with a proud smile, flexing his bicep.

I’m more upset about her dying, commented Nova to himself. But he understood Nap’s comment and thanked him with a nod, returning the happy grin to his face.

Ensuring there were no dead bodies abandoned on the streets was the number one rule in the slums.

“Where did her parents go?” Nova asked, causing the boy's smile to fade again. Eyes wide, Nap took a few steps back and shook his head, refusing to answer.

Nova had a bad feeling about this.

“Nap, where did they go?” he insisted, grabbing Nap's arm and pinning him against the wall. The boy struggled powerlessly against his grip, unable to escape.

“Nap!” Shouted Nova, his fist smashing hard against the sandstone.

With tearful eyes and a snotty nose, Nap finally answered.

“They went page hunting, and Gian and the others went with them.”