The lights above the plaza steadied, but the mood in the crowd was now different.
Laughter returned—forced, a half-beat too loud. The masked citizens started to dance again, but the rhythm was different, like a song that had missed its cue.
She couldn't stop staring at the figure in its burnt-sugar robes. It still hadn't moved. Then, as the drums started up again, it simply turned and walked away—slipping between stalls, heading toward the dim edge of the city where the light grew thin.
"Did you see that?" she whispered.
Aya nodded, "It wants us to follow."
Tomas shook his head. "Vellum said stay within the light."
Felix smiled faintly. "Since when did any of us do what we're told?"
The crowd pressed in a bit closer as another float rolled past-a mountain of gilded chocolate that steamed gently in the warm air. Vellum was still ahead of them, greeting dignitaries in mirrored masks, distracted for the first time since they'd arrived.
Nia made a decision. "Five minutes," she whispered. "We look, then come back."
Aya hesitated only a moment before following. Felix trailed behind, humming softly to himself, the tune eerily in time with the city's pulse. Tomas sighed and came last, muttering about bad ideas.
They slipped into the alley where the figure had gone.
In an instant, the sound of the festival dimmed, muffled, as if swallowed by distance. The air was cooler, the scent of chocolate fading into something sharper: metal, salt, and dust. The light was different here, too, filtered through glass that wasn't gold but gray. Every surface seemed older, worn down by heat and time.
The alley opened onto a narrow street, lined with abandoned confectionery shops. Signs above the doors were faded, the windows clouded. A thin mist crept along the ground, carrying with it the faint sound of ticking, dozens of tiny clocks hidden somewhere beneath the cobblestones.
"Where did it go?" Tomas whispered.
Felix pointed ahead. "There."
The figure in robes of burnt sugar stood at the far end of the street beside a set of stairs descending into shadow. It didn't move as they approached, but its head tilted, as though listening. When they were close enough to speak, it lifted one hand and touched the wall.
The stone shone, melting like sugar in hot water. Behind it lay a doorway—narrow, unlit, breathing some faint red glow from below.
Aya stepped forward. "What is this?"
A voice answered, soft and hollow, as though it came from far beneath them.
"The old quarter. The Bitter District."
The sound sent Nia's skin prickling. It wasn't the figure speaking, but the city, using the air around them.
Felix smiled, fascinated. "I thought that place was sealed."
"It is," Tomas said. "Or was.
The figure turned toward them finally. Its mask was blank porcelain, but as it tilted in the dim light Nia saw faint cracks across it—cracks that glowed faintly from within, red like molten sugar.
Then it spoke again, without movement.
"He cannot protect you down here."
Behind them, a cheer rose distantly from the festival—the sound of fireworks, or something that wanted to sound like fireworks. The noise made the walls tremble. The red glow from the open doorway pulsed once, in perfect rhythm with the heartbeat underfoot.
Aya took Nia's hand. "We shouldn't—"
But Felix was already stepping forward. The light from below painted his face in crimson. "You heard Vellum," he said. "The city remembers. Maybe this is what it wants us to remember."
He disappeared down the stairs before anyone could stop him.
Nia swore under her breath and followed, pulling Aya after her. Tomas came last, glancing once over his shoulder toward the bright, distant music of the plaza. Then he descended into the glow.
The figure in burnt-sugar robes watched them disappear and then slowly dissolved into a swirl of smoke and sweetness, leaving the doorway open behind it.
The stairs were long and curved, carved out of the same chocolate-colored stone as the rest of the city, but darker and veined with red. The deeper they went, the more silent it became. Even the hum from the festival disappeared.
Finally the stairway ended in a narrow corridor lit by glass orbs filled with syrup that glowed from within. The air was warm and still. From somewhere far ahead came a soft mechanical rhythm—slow, deliberate, like the turning of a hidden wheel.
Aya whispered, "We're not supposed to be here."
Nia nodded. "No. But we are."
From the end of the hall, there was a faint whisper, barely audible over the hum:
"Welcome back."