"You know how bad my vision is… I strained my eyes looking for you!"

"Damn it, don't place the blame on me! You know how particular pops is about the plants."

Melchior nudges him. "Hey, use one of your hexes. I'm sure you've got at least one useful curse in there."

"…I don't know if you understand what hexes are, but sure."

As Absinthe finishes his sentence, a cold sense of dread washes over Melchior. It's the feeling of staring down into a deep chasm that cuts into the depths of the world.

It's like the vertigo of standing on a tightrope hundreds of meters in the air.

This coldness always happens whenever Absinthe uses his magic. Despite knowing him all his life, Melchior wonders if he'll ever get over that feeling.

Absinthe kneels down by the crushed garden and snaps his fingers.

"Die."

Paradoxically, the garden regains its colorful luster. The grass rips through the soil at an alarming rate, and the small bouquet blooms again.

"Heh, first try. I'm pretty damned lucky today, huh?"

He picks up one of the flowers and drops it into his shadows as a good luck charm.

Using curses is quite the challenge, according to Absinthe. Supposedly it's all a game of luck. Sometimes the curses work, sometimes they don't, and sometimes their effects are completely reversed.

"Let's get going," Absinthe comments nonchalantly as he pushes open a glassy door. The two enter from the courtyard and walk through a small drawing-room for guests- that was used for guests.

The drawing-room hasn't been used ever since the end of the war, or at least for its intended purpose. The long, silky couches and convenient coffee tables that act as nice leg rests are no longer for guests, but instead for the lounging of Absinthe and Melchior.

Occasionally, Absinthe would play on the grand piano near the center of the room.

The two brush through the reception room and down the hallway. After a few more steps, they take a right and into the Salinger Family's Grand Library… or what was left of it anyway.

The invaders destroyed most of the library's contents: books, scrolls, and all. The whole place is such a depressing sight, like an ocean without any aquatic life to populate its waters. It's cold, listless, empty, and oozes off that feeling of how it could really be a beautiful place if it tried to.

There would be no reason otherwise to enter this room if it didn't harbor such an important secret.

"Tch. Where was it again?" Absinthe asks, pushing aside a collapsed bookshelf.

"Isn't the switch on a lamp? Oh, there it is."

Click!

A large portion of the floor in front of the duo parts open, revealing a cracked stone staircase. Absinthe and Melchior now hear the rumbling from below that the entrance is open.

The damp air assaults the duo's senses, and Absinthe raises a small handkerchief to his nose.

"Yuck!" He hissed as he stepped down the rows of stairs with Melchior following right behind.

As they continue down an arched stone corridor, the rumbling gets even louder with each step.

A light appears at the end of the hallway, and the two smile as the exit is revealed. A massive underground city appears before them, along with the climax of the crescendo of the rumbling voices.

Ahead of them is another long open staircase that allows one to travel down to Misest's underground twin's main road at their leisure.

This is one of three hidden entrances to the depths below Misest, Absinthe's home city.

Since that fateful day, the end of The Great Shattering, one of the biggest clauses in the Treaty of Aetheris Magna was the halt on Misest's reconstruction. However, a keen loophole, one that stated how they could not rebuild on the land was manipulated.

So Misest's people and various others from the Unorthodox nations clamored here to make a life for themselves.

At first, the city looks like any other, blacksmiths pound away at anvils, their rhythmic clang echoing through the tunnels. Bakers tend to communal ovens, their ovens wafting the warm scent of fresh bread.

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Children play on the streets, laughing and joking.

But Absinthe glances at the massive artificial sun that blazes light across Misest's Depths. This "sun" was supposedly stolen from Triumvera's Royal Capital by Farou il Salinger, the legendary heretic and Absinthe's grandfather.

As Absinthe and Melchior descended the stairs, the warm glow of the artificial sun cast an eerie light on the bustling underground city. The air was alive with the hum of activity, a stark contrast to the desolate library above.

Absinthe had grown accustomed to the secrecy, but the weight of their existence still lingered, a constant reminder of the war that had ravaged their world.

The sound of hammering on metal and the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the murmur of conversation.

Because of the existence of the Deathblight Continent, a deadly landmass that separates the Unorthodox Churches and the Eastern Orthodox Kingdoms, it is near impossible for an Inquistor to check up on Misest's condition.

So they're able to get away with this at the very least.

He just wishes that someone could lower the brightness… just a little.

The two descend the staircase, the clacking of their boots being drowned out by the sounds of the city.

"Young Masters!" A small family of workers bows as they pass by the duo. "Good luck tomorrow!"

The father procures two steaming hot Yakideer tubes from a small cloth wrapping. Despite its unappealing name, yakideer tubes are actually a fine delicacy in most western.

Yakideer antlers are hollow and contain high amounts of bone marrow that taste exquisite when cooked. So yakideer tubes are just hollow antlers filled with bone marrow and other vegetables.

"Thank you." Absinthe and Melchior accept the gift graciously. Usually, the brothers would be inclined to decline, but who knows when they'll return? It would be unfavorable to not accept the gift.

After finishing the tubes, the duo continues through the stalls, with their destination being the temples, where their father probably is.

Melchior feels a tugging at his long black and gold-embroidered coat.

He turns and spots a young girl, no older than eleven, asks with beady eyes. "Young Masters, will you destroy them for us? The easterners?"

Absinthe and Melchior glance at each other awkwardly. The latter flashes a nervous smile as he bends down. "Ah… Beatrice, hopefully it doesn't um reach that point. Let's hope to learn about them instead, yes?"

The girl nods, slightly dejected as she hops away.

Absinthe snorts as she slaps Melchior on the back.

"Yeah, destroy all of them for us, Great Master Melchior! That doesn't have a bad ring to it, no?"

"…Be quiet."

As they continued through the winding alleys of the hidden city, the sounds of hammering and baking grew fainter, replaced by the soft murmur of whispers and the rustling of sacred texts. The brothers approached the temple district, where the ornate spires of Veiler's stronghold, the Cult of Saklos, pierced the artificial sky. Absinthe's eyes lingered on the twisted, nightmarish carvings that adorned the temple's façade, a toast to the dark power of Saklos.

Inside, the air thickened with the scent of old parchment and the flickering light of lanterns.

In Absinthe's arms are gifts they had received from many of the hopeful citizens as they passed by.

Under Absinthe, his shadow ripples as its owner drops a small, tightly wrapped box of cookies into its depths.

"Anything you wanna toss in here Mel?"

Melchior shakes his head as he stuffs a small rose pendant into his coat.

A few dozen meters ahead lies the grand temple of Misest. It's nothing short of a wildly impressive structure, with layers of stairs leading up to tall marble pillars that lead to a towering arched entrance.

Below the apex of the arch is a massive bell that hangs silently.

The two traverse up the stairs, reading the engravings on the stairs, and then the pillars once they finally reach the top.