Evening came early under the dome.
The amber light faded into a deep, wine-dark glow spilling across the confectioned streets like spilled syrup. The city seemed to hum louder as the shadows deepened. It wasn't a sound anyone could place-too deep for machinery, too alive for wind.
The party was led through to the upper districts, where glass bridges arced over canals of thick, flowing cocoa. There were lights shimmering beneath the surface, glowing faintly gold, as though the river itself carried fire. Overhead, mechanical doves—made from silver foil and sugar crystal—swept across the air in slow, haunting spirals.
"Isn't it magnificent?" one attendant said softly. "The city's heart never sleeps."
Nia barely heard. Her gaze followed the chocolate river as it curved toward the faraway black walls of the Bitter District. Even from here, the darkness there seemed deeper, heavier.
Aya stood beside her, sketching quietly. "Every colour I see here has another underneath," she whispered. "Gold hides rust. Pink hides grey. Even the chocolate… it isn't all brown. There is red in it. Too much red."
Nia frowned. "You mean color, or—?"
Aya shut her notebook. "Both."
They entered onto a hall at the city's center: a great building done in dark, caramel glass that glittered with the reflections of the dome above them. The huge bronze doors opened without a touch.
Inside, it was the Hall of Confectioners: an expanse of marble-like chocolate with carved sugar pillars. Long tables set with delicate pastries that gleamed under soft light, each piece perfect, each one breathing steam as if freshly made.
Vellum stood at the head of the hall, waiting. Behind him, great portraits of the past confectioners of the city were hung in rows—faces painted in sweet tones, but every eye seemed slightly off, staring just beyond where it should.
"Welcome," said Vellum, opening his arms. "You have walked the streets of industry and wonder. Now you see the heart of artistry. In this city, everything is made from sweetness and precision. The two are inseparable."
The attendants poured golden cocoa into crystal cups. The aroma filled the air, warm and intoxicating, but Nia thought she caught a faint trace of something sharp beneath it.
Vellum lifted his own cup. "Taste, and know what perfection demands."
The children sipped.
Aya's hand shook as she drank. Tomas swallowed cautiously. Felix drained his cup in one graceful sweep of his wrist, smirking at the others.
At first, it was bliss. The taste unfolded like music—layers of warmth, spice, and velvet. But then, right at the edge of awareness, a note of bitterness. Metallic. Almost like… fear.
Nia lowered her cup. "What's in this?"
Vellum smiled faintly. "Only what the city provides: sugar, cream, cocoa, and a touch of patience."
Tomas coughed softly, and his eyes watered. "It's… different."
"Yes," Vellum said softly. "Every flavor says something about its taster. Sweetness is honest-it cannot lie. That is the second rule of Velum's Labyrinth: The taste will always tell the truth."
Felix scowled. "What does that even mean?
"It means," Vellum said, "that what you taste tells me who you are."
Dinner followed, though no one could tell if it was truly food or something else disguised as it. The roast shone like polished amber; the bread cracked into spirals of golden flakes. The chocolate centerpiece pulsed with a faint, warm heartbeat.
Between courses, Vellum barely spoke. He merely watched them—his eyes sharp, studying, like a scientist observing an experiment.
The dessert arrived under a silver dome. The attendants lifted it in unison.
Below lay a sculpture of the city itself, made entirely of chocolate. Each street, each canal, even the dome above, perfectly reproduced in miniature.
The children gasped.
Vellum smiled. "The city you walk in has existed for over a century. It grows, it learns. It remembers."
Aya cocked her head. "Remembers what?
"Everything," said Vellum. "Every step. Every trespass. Every taste."
It was as if time stopped for a second or two. Nia could have sworn she heard a faint tick, like a clock counting beneath the surface of the chocolate model.
Felix leaned closer, tracing a finger toward the model's edge. "Is that the Bitter District?"
The tip of his finger touched the darkened corner of the miniature before he could be stayed.
The chocolate pulsed—once—like a living vein; then a thin inky crack spread from his touch, winding through the streets of the sculpture.
Vellum's hand clamped down on Felix's shoulder before anyone else could move. His voice was calm, but the air around him thickened, humming with restrained fury.
"I said," he muttered, "do not touch what has not been offered."
Felix froze; his bravado fell away. "It—it's just chocolate—"
The Confectioner didn't smile warmly. "Yes. Everything here is 'just chocolate.' Until it decides otherwise."
He released Felix and gestured to the attendants. They moved to cover the model again; the silver dome sealed onto it with a click.
The hum beneath the floor deepened.
Nia looked down to see the marble quivering, but just a little. It stopped as fast as it had started.
It was Vellum's voice, breaking the silence. "The city grows tired," he said quietly. "You must rest. Tomorrow, your lessons begin."
The children were taken to their rooms down the corridor, which seemed much longer now. As they moved, the lights went out one after the other. The last lamp sputtered and suddenly went out as Nia turned to look back.
She saw the city through the hall's window, glowing beneath the dome, a wonder of sweetness and shimmer. Beyond that, visible just at the rim of the light, was the Bitter District.
For the first time, she saw movement there. A faint, slow ripple as though something beneath the surface was waking up.
Aya joined her, eyes wide. "You see it too?"
Nia nodded. "It's alive."