In the depths of the abyss, a dark place, so dark that the air itself seemed woven with shadows. Glints of violet light pulsed on the walls, like veins in a sleeping heart.
A voice sounded, deep and cold, like the crunching of bones under pressure:
—"So, is the search for the new vessel working?"
Nyarlath, the Echo-Eater, floated motionless, his empty eyes fixed on nothingness. He did not respond.
"I see," the voice continued, now with a hint of irritation. "It seems the only viable vessels would be powerful warriors... but they're a problem to deal with. Remember what happened to Zertheck when humans snooped deeper into our territory than they should have."
A thick silence followed.
"That human expedition..." the voice turned melancholic, almost nostalgic. "Four hundred of his finest soldiers, believing they might understand what we are. Zertheck let them reach the very threshold of Level 10, just to show them the truth. And do you know what they did? They screamed. It was a splendid massacre, though Zertheck was badly wounded. Only six escaped... and none with their sanity intact."
Nyarlath slowly turned his head, his needle-like smile shining in the gloom.
"This time it will be different," the voice whispered. "The girl with the crystal... she's beginning to sense the Abyss, and if she isn't a suitable vessel, she'll make excellent bait."
In the Upper City, in a circular room lit by liquid crystal lamps, Elkan—the old leader of the Bearers of the Eternal Lamp—leaned over a table covered with maps and codices.
"A girl has appeared with a dark crystal embedded in her arm," he announced, his eyes tired but alert.
The younger researchers looked at each other, fear palpable on their faces.
"But, Great Leader, this is a problem," said one of them, a boy with red hair and trembling hands.
"Remember that guy from the cleaning crew? If she goes crazy like that..."
"Calm down," Elkan raised a hand. "Apparently, she's handled it better than expected. And that... that interests us. Because there are beings interested in her."
The young people held their breath.
"Which opens the way for us," Elkan continued, tracing a circle on the map around Level 7. "To bring back one of those things that linger where darkness fears to go."
"The Matriarchs of Light?" a researcher asked with a trembling voice.
Elkan smiled, but there was no joy in his expression.
—"Yes. If the Echo Eater has awakened, they won't be long in responding. And we need to be prepared."
Meanwhile, on Level 1...
The market bustled with activity. Stalls selling food, weapons, and Abyssal artifacts lined makeshift streets, lit by beast-hide lanterns. Lucy, Lina, and Rugath walked through the crowd, restocking supplies.
"Last time I was here, Level 1 was just an outpost," Lucy murmured, watching as merchants shouted prices and children ran between the adults' legs.
"It was," Lina replied, adjusting her backpack. "But the High Council decided the Upper City's slums were a 'waste of space.' So now they're moving people here. Where they belong , they say."
Rugath spat on the ground.
—"Idiots. One day, all this will be meat for the beasts."
Lucy rubbed her scarred arm. The crystal beneath her skin throbbed, as if in agreement.
Suddenly, a scream echoed through the market.
—"WOW!"
All heads turned toward the sky—or what seemed to be the sky on Level 1. From the cracks in the cavern ceiling, something was descending.
They were butterflies.
But not just any butterfly. Its wings were made of violet crystal, and they left a trail of luminescent dust in their wake. The crowd murmured, some in amazement, others in fear.
"They're not dangerous," said a vendor, catching one in his hand. "They're just... new."
Lucy felt a chill.
New.
that was a bad sign in the abyss.
Meanwhile, the Upper City continued to host its two guests from the Abyss.
Rheell and Lumis had reached a point where they were indistinguishable from humans . Their faces, skin, and features had transformed: eyes like those of any stray orphan, noses turned up by the cold, mouths that no longer betrayed fangs. Only Lumis's amber irises remained as a vestige of her true nature.
Lumis had grown into a child of disturbing beauty. Mareth, the midwife, attributed the growing glow to her care, unaware that it was the final disguise of a predator.
One afternoon, after discovering the old blacksmith's workshop where they lived, Mareth scolded them with his hands on his hips:
" That place is forbidden! It's the property of the Knights' Guild." His voice softened, tinged with nostalgia. "That's where they forged armor for the soldiers who protected us from the Abyss... before this city became a dunghill."
Rheell and Lumis exchanged a glance. They couldn't understand why humans, even though they were of the same species, would devour each other.
Mareth sighed, stirring a pot of stew.
"Boys... why don't you live with me?" Her fingers tangled in her apron. "The streets are dangerous. You could have a warm bed... and decent food."
Lumis smiled before thinking about it.
" Yes, Mom Mareth."
The word "Mom" echoed in the air like a spell. It stabbed something in Rheell's chest—not pain, but an emotion borrowed from stolen memories: the image of a blacksmith hugging his dead son.
The next few days were a gastronomic experiment . Human food—crude bread, stale bone soup—never satisfied their abysmal hunger, but they learned to tolerate it. Like actors in a play , they mimicked the mannerisms of Tobin and the other children.
Until, without warning, the urge to hunt vanished.
One night, Lumis woke up with a start:
" Did the memories we ate... make us human? Or did they just take away our hunger?"
Rheell didn't know how to respond. But he no longer longed to crack open skulls. Now he dreamed of absurd things: the smell of grass, the sound of a flute, the borrowed sensation of dying old and satisfied.
During a game, Lumis pointed out the scars that crisscrossed Tobin's arms like dried-up rivers. The boy cringed:
— "My parents were hanged for stealing a loaf of bread." Her laughter sounded like broken glass. "They were too proud to steal... until they saw me cry from hunger."
Lumis frowned.
" Bread? Why not meat?"
Tobin pointed upward, where the towers of the noble districts pierced the clouds.
— "Meat is for those at the top. We eat their leftovers... or rats."
Rheell clenched his fists. Stolen memories flooded his mind like poison, revealing human cruelty in all its rawness: children licking slaughterhouse stones, old people selling their teeth for a handful of credits—memories of how this cursed city once worked.
He looked up, where the towers of the upper districts cut the sky like blades. Now he understood. The city wasn't a metropolis: it was a beast with ten stomachs, each digesting those below.
The ten districts of the great floating metropolis were divided as follows:
Districts 1-3 (The Bone Crown): Here lived the nobles of ancient blood, their palaces built from the vertebral columns of abyssal creatures. Abyss researchers toiled in sealed laboratories, extracting secrets from the forbidden levels. The great barracks that were dedicated to sending their soldiers patrolling the entire city in beast-scale armor, polished to a mirror-like shine.
District 4 (The Market): The commercial heart, where the flesh of creatures from the lower levels, spices grown in suspended greenhouses, and slaves marked with runes of obedience were traded. From here led the land bridges, thick chains forged from the bones of the early settlers, and the large tunnels that connected to the elevators on level 1 of the Abyss.
Districts 5-7 (The Jaws of Labor):
5 (Agriculture): Terraced crops irrigated with water filtered from the lungs of Drelgor (abyssal fish that purified the liquids).
6 (Textiles): Workshops where cloaks were woven from Level 3 spider silk so fine they could cut skin when touched.
7 (Metallurgy): Factories where Abyssal bones were fused into steel, lit by the green glow of alchemical furnaces.
Districts 8-10 (The Rotten Guts):
8 (The Grey Market): Here ended the refuse of the upper districts: moldy bread, worm-eaten fruit, and broken toys whose mechanisms still murmured in unknown tongues.
9 (The Shadow): Territory of gangs that worshipped beasts of the Abyss, its walls tattooed with symbols that bled under the full moon.
10 (The Broken Bone): Where they were now. The bottom of the world. Houses made from the ribs of dead creatures, streets paved with the teeth of the executed. Here, even the air smelled of defeat.
"That's wrong," Rheell roared, his human nails digging into his palms to form a crescent of blood.
Lumis looked at him, her amber eyes reflecting the distant lights of districts 1-3. For the first time, something in her chest throbbed with alien rage.