Morning on the First Floor of the underworld wasn't anything like morning on the surface.
Here, light didn't come from the sun, it came from dozens of white-gold crystals floating across the ceiling, radiating a soft glow like early dawn.
The air was warm but not scorching. Quiet but not dead. Peaceful for one specific reason:
Sofia arranged it that way.
She had completely transformed the First Floor into a place that no longer felt like hell, but like a temple or a sacred palace.
And that morning…
Two figures stepped out of the main chamber, the large door closing quietly behind them.
Sylvia and Sofia walked side by side.
They had just finished bathing and it showed. Sylvia's usually messy hair now fell neatly and gleamed, black as wet obsidian. Her normally cold face looked slightly… fresher? Her skin looked smooth, like it had been tuned by death energy itself.
