The stairs swallowed the last scraps of daylight behind us.
Ash went first, like he always did when he decided something was safe—safe enough to let other people follow. His steps were steady, the kind of steady that made the darkness feel less like a mouth and more like a hallway.
Behind him, Milo insisted on holding the lantern.
"I should," he whispered, already shifting into storyteller mode. "It's tradition. The one who carries the light—"
Todd reached out and shoved Milo's shoulder, gently but firmly. "You're going to drop it."
"I will not."
"You will. You look like you're shaking."
"I'm not shaking," Milo hissed. "The flame is trembling because it senses destiny."
Ash didn't turn around, but his voice drifted back like a rope keeping us all tied together. "Milo. If you spill oil in here, you're cleaning it. With your tongue."
The lantern steadied instantly.
I walked behind Todd, careful with every step. My side tugged whenever I put weight wrong, and the sling made my shoulder feel heavier than it should've. I hated that I couldn't hide any of it. Not really. Down here, the quiet made every small movement loud.
Todd glanced back once, saw how I was stepping, and clicked his tongue like it offended him.
"Stop limping," he whispered.
I whispered back, "Stop being you."
Todd's eyes widened like he couldn't believe I said that, then he looked forward again, offended and oddly satisfied.
Ash slowed half a step. Not enough to announce it. Just enough that the gap didn't stretch.
He didn't say, Are you okay? He didn't need to. That question made my chest tight in a way I didn't trust.
Instead, he said casually, "Watch the edges. The steps dip on the left."
I adjusted and made it down without slipping.
Milo whispered, "Ash. This is… actually kind of cool."
Todd whispered back, "Don't say that. You'll jinx it."
Milo whispered louder, "You can't jinx stone."
"You can jinx anything," Todd argued, like it was a heroic law.
Ash finally stopped and raised one hand in a loose fist—freeze.
We all froze. Even Milo, mid-breath.
The lantern light wobbled, then steadied as Milo clamped down.
Ash leaned forward slightly, listening.
For a few long seconds, the only sound was the soft lick of flame and my own breath. In. Out. Slow. I tried to keep it normal.
Then Ash straightened.
"Nothing," he murmured. "Just water."
Todd exhaled like he'd been holding his breath to prove he wasn't scared.
Milo exhaled like he'd been holding his breath to be dramatic.
We continued down until the stairs ended and the tunnel opened into something wider.
Not a cave.
Not rough stone.
This was carved.
The walls were smooth in long stretches, with sections reinforced by old metal ribs that disappeared into the stone like bones. Along the sides, narrow vents ran in repeating intervals—slots that looked like someone had cut thin mouths into the wall.
The air that flowed through them was cool and… strangely clean.
Not "perfume clean." Not "rich house clean."
Clean like rain after dust.
Milo lifted the lantern higher, eyes shining. "Okay. This is definitely a secret hero passage."
Todd muttered, "It's a tunnel."
Ash glanced back. "It's an old maintenance route. So behave."
Todd blinked. "Maintenance?"
Milo blinked harder. "Maintenance isn't heroic."
Ash shrugged like the world didn't care what Milo thought was heroic. "Then you're going to have a hard time growing up."
I stared down the corridor, watching the vents repeat like a pattern.
"Maintenance… for what?" I asked.
Ash tilted the lantern light toward the wall, pointing with two fingers at a metal plate set into the stone. There were faded markings on it—simple circles, lines, numbers carved deep enough that time hadn't erased them.
"For the first anti miasma device," Ash said.
I frowned. "That shrine?"
"Yeah," Ash replied. "Back when Azuris first got its anti-miasma device, it wasn't just a single statue-and-hope kind of thing. There were parts you had to check. Containers to replace. Vents to keep clear."
He tapped the wall gently, like you might tap a sleeping animal.
"These tunnels connect to that old network. Not all the way through the city," he added quickly, as if Milo's imagination was already sprinting. "Just enough to keep the shrine system running."
Todd leaned closer to the metal ribs. "So people used to walk down here… to do chores."
Ash nodded. "Yep."
Milo looked betrayed. "So we're… walking in the footsteps of—"
"Workers," Ash said.
Milo's shoulders slumped. "That's still kind of cool."
I couldn't stop staring at the plates.
Some of the carvings were just arrows and symbols that looked like instructions. Some had little circles like diagrams. It reminded me—faintly—of those verification boxes I'd seen at gates and counters.
Not the same design. But the same feeling.
Everything built to function.
"Does it still work?" I asked, voice small without meaning to be.
Ash's expression softened a fraction. "Parts of it. Mostly it's… old. But the shrine up top still pushes clean air the way it was meant to. Even if nobody comes down here anymore."
Todd straightened. "Why doesn't anyone come down here?"
Ash kept walking. "Because it's inconvenient."
Milo scoffed. "Convenience is the enemy of adventure."
Ash pointed ahead with two fingers—follow. "Convenience is the reason most people live long enough to complain."
I followed, eyes scanning everything. My fear wasn't sharp down here. It was quiet. Like the tunnel was asking, Are you paying attention?
And I wanted to answer yes.
***
We walked for a while. The corridor curved gently, then straightened, then split into smaller offshoots sealed by simple iron gates. Some had old warning plaques—half-rusted, letters still visible.
Milo kept leaning toward every side path like a moth trying to throw itself into every flame.
Todd kept yanking him back like it was his duty.
Ash kept ignoring both, and somehow that made the corridor feel even more normal.
Then Milo gasped.
It was a loud gasp. A Milo gasp.
I flinched hard enough that my side stung.
Ash froze instantly and lifted his fist.
We all stopped.
Milo pointed at the wall, nearly smacking the lantern against stone in his excitement. "Names!"
Todd leaned in. "What?"
I stepped closer too, careful.
There were scratches along the wall—hundreds of them. Some were just lines. Some were messy letters carved with something sharp. Some were old chalk marks faded into ghosts.
"Jorin was here!" "15th trial—never again" "If you're reading this, turn back." "I did it!!" "Coming-of-age path. Don't cry."
Milo's eyes went wide. "They wrote in the wall like heroes leaving messages."
Todd read another one and snorted. "This one says 'I threw up on step thirty.'"
Milo's expression turned reverent anyway. "A sacrifice."
Ash exhaled through his nose, amused despite himself. "This used to be a tradition."
Todd blinked. "The scribbling?"
"The trial," Ash said, tapping one of the older carvings—deeper, more careful. "Back then, when kids turned fifteen—when you were considered an adult—people would come out here and walk the route. It was like… a coming-of-age ceremony."
I stared at the wall.
Fifteen.
Todd and Ash were that age. I wasn't. Milo was the same age as me.
"So it's… like a test?" I asked.
Ash nodded. "Sort of. It was never official, but everyone treated it like one. Walk down, reach the chamber, walk trough the exit. Prove you can follow a route and not panic when the light gets thin."
Milo looked suddenly offended. "Why don't people do it anymore?"
Ash shrugged. "They replaced it. Now there's a convenient version in the town center. Bright lights, officials, speeches, a little badge or certificate. No one has to walk into a forest and get their shoes muddy."
Todd's mouth opened, then closed. "That sounds… boring."
"It is," Ash said simply. "But it's easier. And most people like it easy."
Milo huffed. "I would've done this one."
Todd nodded fiercely. "Same."
Ash glanced over his shoulder at them. "You two would've gotten lost in the first corner because you'd be arguing about which hero would take the left path."
Todd bristled. "I would not."
Milo pointed at a carving. "Look! Someone wrote 'Left path is cursed.'"
Todd's eyes widened. "See?"
Ash didn't even slow down. "It's not cursed. Keep moving."
I kept reading as I walked, eyes darting between messages like they were windows into people who'd once stood where I stood.
Then my gaze snagged on a name that didn't belong among the messy scratches.
It was carved cleaner, deeper. A neat hand.
ASH
Just that. No extra line. No joke.
My steps slowed.
Ash kept walking, then noticed the silence behind him and glanced back.
I was staring at his name.
He stopped.
Not sharply. Not like a command.
Like he'd reached the end of a thought.
Todd and Milo leaned in too.
Milo's eyes lit up. "ASH! YOU DID THIS?"
Todd squinted. "Of course he did."
Ash rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking more like a teenager than a man who carried tunnels in his head. "Yeah."
"When?" I asked, voice careful.
Ash shrugged again, but it wasn't casual this time. It was the kind of shrug that tried to hide something personal.
"A while ago," he said.
Milo pressed, immediately nosy. "With who? Alone? Were you scared? Did you fight a monster? Did you—"
Ash lifted his fist again—freeze.
Milo shut his mouth mid-word like someone had tied a knot in it.
Ash lowered his fist and spoke lightly, "If you keep asking questions like that, you're going to run out of oxygen."
Todd blinked. "That doesn't even make sense."
"It does if I leave you here," Ash replied.
Todd's face went pale for half a second, then he realized Ash was joking and clicked his tongue. "That's not funny."
Milo whispered, "It was a little funny."
Todd whispered back, "No."
Ash looked at me again, and his eyes softened—just slightly.
"Let's keep going," he said.
And he resumed walking like my question hadn't hit anything tender.
But it had.
I didn't push.
Not because I didn't want to know.
Because something in Ash's voice told me I'd hear it later, if I was patient.
***
The corridor turned into a junction a little farther on.
Three paths branched off, each marked by carved arrows and simple symbols.
Ash stopped and pointed at each one like a teacher pretending he wasn't teaching.
"See this?" he said, tapping a symbol that looked like a small square with a line beneath it. "That means main route. Safe."
He tapped another—a triangle with a dot. "That one means ventilation access. Don't go in unless you want to crawl."
Milo leaned in, squinting. "Why would anyone crawl?"
Ash's eyes flicked to him. "Because some people can't resist touching things they can't name."
Milo straightened immediately, pretending he'd never touched anything in his life.
Todd pointed at a third symbol—two lines crossing like an X. "What's that?"
Ash's tone changed slightly. Still casual. But firmer. "That means sealed."
Todd frowned. "Sealed like… closed?"
"Sealed like leave it alone," Ash corrected. "This route isn't a maze, but people still get stupid if they think they're special."
Milo raised his hand like he was in class. "Are we special?"
Ash stared at him.
Milo lowered his hand.
Ash turned to me. "Trey. Count steps."
I blinked. "Count steps?"
"Yeah," Ash said. "It helps you remember the way back. One hundred steps, you hit the next bend. Another sixty, you hit the chamber door. That kind of thing."
I nodded quickly and started counting in my head as we walked. It was… strangely comforting. Like numbers could be a rope.
Ash kept glancing back at me occasionally, making sure I wasn't drifting.
And every time he did, it felt less like he was supervising and more like he was… making sure I didn't vanish.
I didn't realize how much that mattered until my chest tightened again.
***
We reached the chamber door sooner than I expected.
It wasn't a door in the normal sense. More like a stone archway with a thick slab set into it, carved so precisely it looked like it had been cut yesterday.
A faded plate was set into the stone beside it, words still visible.
The air here was even cleaner, cooler. The lantern flame steadied like it liked the place.
Milo's voice went quieter without anyone telling him. "This feels… important."
Todd nodded slowly, eyes narrowed like he was trying to out-stare history.
Ash stopped in front of the slab and rested his palm against it, like greeting an old wall.
"Here," he said.
Ash finally looked back at us, eyes calm, and said, "If I tell you everything before you see it, you'll spend the whole time imagining something cooler and miss what's actually there."
Milo nodded solemnly as if that was wisdom from a hero statue.
Todd narrowed his eyes. "That's the same as saying you like watching us suffer."
Ash shrugged. "I like watching you guys learn."
Todd opened his mouth to argue.
Ash pushed the slab.
It moved with a deep, heavy sound, stone sliding against stone. A cold breath rolled out from the chamber beyond.
Milo sucked in a quiet, awed sound.
Todd stepped forward first, like he refused to be the hesitant one.
I followed, lantern light spilling into the room.