The echo of the bell had barely faded when Vellum turned abruptly and strode down the corridor.
"Follow me," he said. His tone wasn't loud, but there was the power of command within it that brooked no refusal.
Nia, Aya, Tomas, and Felix looked at each other uncertainly, then complied.
The corridors of the Hall of Confectioners were never the same anymore. The walls that had always shone with the golden light of the lamps seemed now to throb with intricate patterns of crimson. There lingered the scent of metal, and the thrum of the sugar machines sounded irregularly, as if the beating of a heart.
Aya whispered, "It's like the whole city's… nervous."
Vellum didn't look back. "It's not nerves, Miss Amari. It's memory surfacing."
They descended a spiral staircase that spiralled deeper than any of them had ever dared imagine.
The stairs were of tempered glass, and through them the city's entrails sparkled like a never-ending profusion of cogs.
Below stretched the rhythmic pulse of the city—a bright light that seemed alive.
Tomas bent over the rail. "That's—"
"The Foundry," said Vellum. "The heart of the city
The air grew hotter with each step downward. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, condensation glimmered on the walls—in rivulets of golden syrup that flowed down like sweat. Giant pipes snaked across the ceiling as the air in them labored rhythmically—a syncopated inhalation and exhalation. The pattern mesmerized with its rhythm of inhale-exhale.
They entered a broad circular hall. A gigantic sphere stood at its center that consisted of layered bronze panels with the inscriptions of countless names on each of them. Some of these names were faintly luminescent; others had stopped shining. All around the sphere were metal arms that stirred massive cauldrons of melted sweetness that flowed into molds hidden somewhere within the walls.
Aya's eyes went wide. "This? You made this?"
Vellum smiled faintly.
"I found it. The Foundry existed here before the city even existed; it was forgotten under the ruins of the first confectioners' colony. But we learned how to feed it."
Felix gazed at the sphere. "Feed it what?"
The smile on the vellum remained unchanged. "Memory. Emotion. The very definition of flavor. All flavors ever crafted within these walls go through the Foundry. Experience honed through refinement to make it permanent."
His fingers reached out to touch the nearest bronze plate. This flared gold for an instant; a faint echo of laughter swelled through the air—the noise of a multitude celebrating at a forgotten festival.
Tomas took a step back. "It's… alive."
"In a sense. But now, there's a shift happening in the rhythm."
Vellum nodded
He looked at Felix and then at the giant bronze ball. "The Bitter District was its shadow the reservoir of everything that the Foundry could not process. Regret. Failure. Bitterness. This was meant to remain sealed. And yet when you took a taste of the Bitter District, Mr. Moreau, you turned that bitterness into a form."
Felix's jaw clenched in response. "This is my fault?"
Vellum relaxed a bit. "No. What you did was remind the city that bitterness existed."
As they stood there under the shadow of the machine, the floor shook.
A low hum emanated deep within the Foundry; this vibration grew deeper and deeper, thrumming through their very bones. The bronze panels shifted and rearranged themselves. Some darkened; others cracked open with a hiss of hot steam that smelled slightly burnt.
Nia moved forward despite herself. "It's rearranging names."
Aya followed the gaze. "Wait--where's Felix's?"
They scanned the light-emitting plates. There were dozens of names that pulsed on and off, but Felix's wasn't there.
Vellum's eyes narrowed. "That's. not possible."
Then there appeared a light at the bottom of the sphere—a red one that pulsed. A new name started burning letters into the metal:
FELIX MORE
But this time, the light did not fade. The letters started spreading out, branching like cracks through the other names, making them darken. The hum of the machine grew stronger and fell out of rhythm. Some syrup spilled out of one of the cauldrons; it hissed on the floor.
Aya called out, "What's it doing
Vellum's calm façade cracked for the first time. "It's absorbing him."
Felix stumbled backwards, the skin on his face shining faintly red under the light. "What--what does that mean?"
"The Foundry thinks you are a flavor," said Vellum. "It wants to preserve you."
Tomas grabbed his shoulder. 'Then stop it!'
"I can't," said Vellum quietly. "Not without unbalancing the entire city."
The hum swelled to a keening pitch. A fissure appeared on the bronze sphere's surface as it opened ever so slightly to reveal the molten light within—a storm of gold and red swirling together like a living thing. Felix cried out as he fell to the floor on his knees. "It's inside me!" Felix gasped. "It's calling—"
Nia knelt beside him. "Felix, stay with us!"
But his gaze had drifted elsewhere, shining with the light of the Foundry. "I see it," he whispered. "The memories of the city. its people, its tastes, and all the things it has ever produced."
Aya moved closer. "What do you see?"
He gazed at her and faintly smiled. ''It's beautiful. And it's breaking.''
The Foundry trembled. The bronze plates clashed together like the final snap of an immense mouth. The red light dimmed and the golden glow returned. Felix fell forward, unconscious but breathing. The sphere stopped.
Vellum drew near cautiously, observing the machine. "It freed him," he whispered. "Temporary reprieve."
Aya knelt beside Felix. "What happened to him?"
His face was unreadable. "The city tried to make him a part of its memory. This means that it recognizes that he is valuable."
Nia's voice was low. "And if it tries again?"
Vellum gazed at her with unfocused eyes. "So next time he won't wake up."
And out of the depths of the Foundry came a final sound—a faint but unmistakable one—a heartbeat, slow and deep. And just as it seemed about to vanish altogether, a whisper that none of them could say whether they truly heard or only imagined:
"Sweetness remembers. Sweetness keeps."