“Ihra.” Jasper grabbed her shoulders, shaking her violently. “Ihra, wake up.” She didn't stir from her position, her eyes closed as tight as a coffin's lid.

THUMP

The thick copper door behind him rumbled again. Jasper spared a wild glance over his shoulder, his mind already reaching for a spell. The door was almost bent in half now; truly Jasper had no idea how a few edges still managed to cling to the frame - truly, its durability was a ringing endorsement of the artful craftsmanship the ancient city must once have possessed.

He could see a blob of darkness through the ruined door; somehow blacker than the dark streets that loomed behind, even the pale green light of the stone did nothing to illuminate the endless darkness that stared back at him. Four black hands reached through the gap; grabbing fast the edges of the bent door, they strained against its failing constraints.

Jasper stood frozen, unaware that he had let loose the spell he had been holding in until he saw the orbs of fire ricochet off the copper door. Most bounced off harmlessly, but a few smashed into the dark being.

A shriek echoed through the empty streets, the creature emitting a desolate, keening wail that set his teeth on edge. Jasper fell on his knees, gasping for air, as pure despair flooded through him. The bracelet on his wrist flared to life, surging ice through his veins as he struggled to fight off the mental attack. Barely keeping his grip on consciousness, his vision floated before him.

With a simple flex of its four arms, the dark being ripped the door out of its frame, the walls rumbling as pieces of rubble collapsed all around. Jasper tried to form another spell, but his concentration was shattered as another keening shriek threw him to the ground.

I’m not going to die like this. A single cogent thought echoed through his mind. A deep calm fell over him as he reached for soul magic; unlike the first time, it came eagerly, as a nearly overwhelming flood of power surged through him.

His body wreathed in flames, shadowy wings flickering behind him, he pushed himself off the ground and stood to face the city’s doom. But the creature no longer stood in the empty entrance. Its keening wail echoed further down the street and its endless darkness had been replaced by a sea of pale white faces.

Jasper raised his hands, prepared to blast them from existence. But one hastily stepped forward, its hands raised in a placating gesture. “Batlu, batlu!”

They can talk? His mind reeled, trying to parse the meaning of the phrase. He hesitated, no longer sure if they were truly an enemy. A last keening wail ripped through the dark halls and he fell to the ground, losing his grip on the soul fire. An intense weariness overtook him as the flames that had consumed his body guttered out. His last vision before he slipped into unconsciousness was a menagerie of pale, alien faces looming above him.

----------------------------------------

*Splash*

Jasper awoke with a splutter, coughing as he spat out a mouthful of lukewarm water. Despite the unpleasant awakening, the water felt good - his body was slick with sweat, and the room so unbearably hot that he would have sworn he had fallen asleep beside a volcano.

But a pulse of panic shot through his mind as Jasper recalled the pale faces that had encircled him at the end. Panicking, he tried to sit up but stumbled as his arms jerked to a halt. Manacles encircled his wrists, their short chain attached to a nearby wall.

He glanced up at the source of the water and recoiled as he saw one of the creatures standing beside him. It was the first time he had gotten more than a fleeting look at one of the pale-faces.

Nearly ten feet tall, the being was extremely thin. Its proportions were odd. The creature’s limbs were a bit too long and gangly - the arms appeared to be slightly longer than the legs - and its skin was as pale as milk, utterly untouched by the sun’s harsh rays. It stood on two legs, a bucket clutched in its hand, but when it placed the bucket on the ground, the creature settled back on all fours.

But the face was not that of an animal. It bore a marked resemblance to the pale Moon-kissed in the upper city, a set of fangs peaking out of the edges of its lips, but its eyes shone with keen intelligence and the simple tunic wrapped around its waist told Jasper that he was dealing with a civilized being.

“Tahdītu ilī - atta nēhu?”

Jasper wrinkled his brow, struggling to understand what the being was saying. The pale-face must have seen his confusion, as it spoke again, this time in the common tongue, although its word came haltingly, as if it was unused to the language.

“Are you peaceful?”

Jasper’s eyes flicked over to the manacle chaining him to the wall. Was he peaceful? Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what to make of the situation, but he decided to play along. He nodded at the creature.

It stared him in the eyes for so long Jasper had to force himself not to look away. His mouth grew dry, his skin itching, but he forced himself to meet the being’s eyes, offering a half-hearted smile as proof of his friendliness.

At last satisfied, the pale-face lifted up a hand, unlocking the manacles that bound Jasper to the wall with an idle twist of his wrist. A mage? Jasper was surprised. He was about to mutter a word of thanks when the creatures slapped a new, albeit much lighter, pair of handcuffs across his wrists and motioned for him to follow.

Without another word, it turned and left the room. After a moment’s hesitation, Jasper obeyed.

They were still underground - how far, he could not tell - but the unbearable heat assured Jasper they could not be far from the city. But the tunnels the creature lead him through were unlike the wide streets of the city; tall, but quite narrow, the floor of the tunnel glowed with the now-familiar pale green stone, lighting the way before them.

They walked in silence. Jasper couldn’t stop himself from fretting about Ihra, but he tried to remain calm; thus far, the pale-faced being hadn’t shown any signs of malevolence. Maybe they were just unfortunate people, some sort of mutants cast out of polite society. The dark creature, on the other hand? His stomach churned at the mere memory of the being, and he choked as a bit of acid made its way up.

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The pale-faced being must have sensed his distress. It turned around, gazing at him with those big, black eyes. One of its long arms reached out, brushing a finger against him. A deep sense of calm begin to well up in Jasper, although it was quenched seconds later as the Fey charm sprung to life.

“Do you have a name?” Jasper blurted the words out, surprising even himself.

The being simply turned back to the tunnel, continuing to lumber down the path. But a single word met his ear: “Tiālu.”

Their walk was not long. The path continuously sloped downward, deeper and deeper into the dark womb of the earth, but it made the going easy. Slowly, the claustrophobic walls of the tunnel widened until at last they emerged into a large open chamber. Like the entry room of Kaksû’s Sepulcher, the chamber was dimly lit. A large number of the beings were clustered inside and - to Jasper’s great relief - a familiar blonde-haired elfling awaited him, her hands free of the binding chains.

“Jasper!” Ignoring the creatures’ protests, she ran over to hug him. “Thank Selene. When I woke from the meditation, you were gone and the nizirtū were hovering over me. I was afraid you were dead.” She squeezed tight, his ribs groaning beneath the pressure.

“Geez, you’ve gotten stronger.” He gently pushed her hands away, releasing the death grip on his lungs. “I’m guessing that means the trial was a success.”

She nodded, a response clearly on the tip of her tongue, but one of the pale-faced creatures - nizirtū, I guess - stepped forward.

It spoke far more clearly than Jasper’s guide, its words firm and unhesitating. “You have angered the dead gods. You must pay the penalty.”

Uh-oh. Jasper’s heart leapt into his throat. That doesn’t sound good. He swallowed hard, ignoring the lump in his throat. “De-dead gods? What are those?”

The leader rared up on two legs, towering over the pair. “What are they?” Its voice thundered in the room, ripe with anger. “What are they? They are the lords of this city, the fallen stars, the crumbled heavens.”

But just as suddenly as it exploded, the being deflated, its anger suddenly melting away like the first frost on a warm autumn day. “Truly we are the Forgotten. Follow.” It barked the command at them, turning away with a lumbering gait.

The pair followed the nizirtu into a nearby room. Jasper shot Ihra a questioning look, and she just shrugged. “They haven’t exactly been talkative.” She mouthed quietly at him.

But as Jasper glanced around the new chamber they had entered, he realized his questions were about to be answered. The room glowed with the cheery light of fire, as the hundreds of candles burning in their sconces offered a welcome relief from the cold, pale light of the green stones. The walls were covered in vibrant frescoes, a multi-colored menagerie of fantastic beasts and folk that wrapped around the entirety of the chamber. It was clearly a chapel of sorts, Jasper realized.

The leader pointed at one of the closest frescoes on the wall. A pale woman, dressed in a simple white tunic, stared back at them. “When our Mother first fled to the north, the other Djinn looked down on us.” The leader glanced sharply at Jasper’s red skin, and he felt his cheeks heating up. “The Moon-kissed were considered traitors then, children who had turned their back on the light of our Father.”

He led them to the next mural. “Desperate for sanctuary, Damqa prayed to Selene and received a vision - a city beneath the surface, safe from the persecution of our brothers.”

“Led by her visions, Damqa found the city. Then, as now, it lay in ruins, cloaked in darkness. But Selene herself graced us with her light, gifting us the uskāru that drove the night away. And in the depths, at the bottom of the great pit, Damqa found something else.”

Jasper stared up at the next fresco, needing no explanation from the nizirtu leader to decipher what he saw. A ring of blue and silver corpses lay in state, the tell-tale four arms leaving him little doubt as to their identity. The dead Mwryani were arrayed in a circle around a central podium in which an oversized dagger, its blade resembling a fang more than a traditional edge, was displayed. The password from Kaksû’s Sepulcher flashed into his mind.

"Naḥas̆s̆inu dā’iku ilī; S̆admūti arānu kakkabī,” he whispered.

A second later he was tossed to the ground with a violent backhand. The pale-faced leader loomed over him, the anger blossoming in his eyes. “Do not say those words.” it hissed.

It let go of him, turning back to the frescoes, and Jasper picked himself up gingerly, utterly taken aback by the being’s response. An awkward silence settled over the party, but after a long moment, the leader resumed.

“No one knows how the dead gods came to be there, or who killed them, and all of Damqa’s entreaties for information fell on deaf ears as the goddess refused to answer. Many of our people, however, came to believe that the dead gods were the builders of the city. For generations, our priests taught that we were the blessed guardians of their tomb, caretakers of the fallen stars. But we were wrong.”

“No one knows how it happened, but the shadow awakened. Gods do not die, not fully. Unbeknownst to our kin, their shades lingered on as their corruption seeped throughout the city. The darkness grew, as if it was a living entity, quenching Selene’s grace and in the shadows, the shades stalked our people.”

“They attacked from behind, latching their fangs into their victims' necks. But they took nothing from their prey, merely injecting them with their venom. Most who were bit died, driven violently insane before their passing. Burning with fever, they’d claw at their bodies, gouging great furrows in their flesh as they sought to rid themselves of the bugs they believed were buried in their skin.”

“But some of their victims survived; rather than succumbing to fever and eventual death, those who survived were changed.” The nizirtu turned to face them. “Most of our kin abandoned us, fleeing to the surface where the light of the Father we abandoned kept the beasts at bay. But we could not follow, no longer able to bear Shamsha’s burning wrath. We were the Forgotten.”

Jasper shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to ask the question lest he bear the brunt of another blow, but needing to know just the same. “And the dead gods? Why did you accuse us of angering them?”

A thundercloud passed over the nizirtu’s face, disappearing almost as quickly as it came. “Our kin do not avoid us merely out of shame. The shadows of the dead gods mostly ignore us, slumbering in their graves, but whenever fresh blood enters the depths of the city, they stir again. If they are able to claim their sport, they return to their slumbers; if not, our people suffer.”

Jasper began to get an uneasy feeling in his stomach. “Claim their sport?”

The nizirtu cocked his head as a cold smile spread across his lips. “You, of course.” The being sighed, clucking his tongue. “It’s an unenviable task, but as Keeper of Memories, it is my job to inform you of these things.”

Ihra reacted immediately, her hands already reaching for the bow on her back, but the guards surrounding them were faster, slamming shackled around her wrists Ihra. Jasper struggled to break free, but the bindings held firm; whatever the shackles were made from seemed to hinder the flow of his essence as his every attempt to form a spell dissipated uselessly.

The nizirtu sighed again, a genuine expression of regret pooling in his eyes. “I am sorry, but if I must choose between my people’s safety or your life, there is no choice at all. My people will always come first. The dead gods must be satiated.”