In Cain's ninth month in the underground city, an unexpected discovery changed everything.
That night, as usual, he finished training and returned to his small room. He lay on his bed, the ancient silver coin his father had left behind clutched in his hand. This was something he did every night before sleep—pull the coin from his pocket, hold it in his palm, and study the incomprehensible symbols in the faint glow of the silver moss.
Nine months. He had looked at it for nine months and seen nothing.
But tonight was different.
Tonight was the full moon.
Though the underground city was beneath the earth, Marcus had installed a row of skylights in the ceiling of the third-floor mess hall—thick glass panels that kept out rain but let in moonlight on clear nights. Marcus said it was to remind those who lived underground not to forget that there was still a sky above their heads.
Cain rarely went to the mess hall to look at the moon. He was too busy. Training during the day, training at night, even thinking about tomorrow's training plan while he ate. But tonight, for no reason he could name, he found himself walking to the mess hall.
Beneath the skylights, moonlight poured down like liquid silver, spreading a cold white glow across the stone floor.
Cain stood in the moonlight and looked down at the coin in his hand.
Then he saw it.
The symbols on the coin were glowing.
Not the cold light of silver moss. A golden, warm light—as if a sliver of sunlight had been sealed inside the metal. The symbols he had stared at for nine months without understanding began to shift, to flow, to transform, to reorganize. Finally, they formed a line of text he could read:
"Tomb of the Godslayer. Twilight Valley. When the moon is full, the door will open."
Cain's hand clenched around the coin.
His heart pounded so hard he thought his ribs might crack. He stood there, staring at the coin where the words had already vanished, a single thought racing through his mind:
His father's keepsake wasn't a keepsake. It was a key.
He turned and ran toward Marcus's room.
Marcus was studying a map by lamplight.
When Cain pushed the door open, he didn't even look up.
"Knock next time," he said.
"The coin showed words," Cain said.
Marcus's hand stopped moving. He slowly raised his head, his gray-blue eyes fixing on Cain.
"What words?"
Cain placed the coin on the table. Moonlight streamed in through the open door and fell on the coin—but nothing happened. No glow. No words. Nothing.
"In the mess hall, moonlight hit it, and the symbols turned into words," Cain said. "It said: 'Tomb of the Godslayer. Twilight Valley. When the moon is full, the door will open.'"
Marcus was silent for a long time.
So long that Cain thought he might have fallen asleep.
Then Marcus stood, walked to the wall, and took down the old shield. From a hidden compartment behind the shield, he retrieved a sheet of parchment. The parchment was yellowed and brittle, its edges blackened as if scorched by fire.
He spread the parchment on the table and pushed it toward Cain.
It was a map.
At the center of the map, a location was marked: Twilight Valley. Beside Twilight Valley, a tomb symbol was drawn. Above the tomb, a line of small text was inscribed—identical to the words that had appeared on the coin.
"Your father didn't leave you just a coin," Marcus said. "He left you a map."
"You knew about this place?" Cain asked.
"I knew," Marcus said. "But I never entered. Because I didn't have the key."
He looked at Cain. His gray-blue eyes held a complex expression—something between relief and worry.
"Twilight Valley lies on the far side of Mount Skyreach, at the edge of the gods' territory. That's where the first Godslayer is buried."
Cain's breath caught.
"The first Godslayer?"
"The one I told you about. The first person to kill a god," Marcus said. "Legend says that after he died, his clan buried his body in Twilight Valley and entombed his weapons and relics with him. For centuries, countless people have tried to find that tomb. No one has ever succeeded."
He pointed to the coin on the table.
"Because the key has always been in your family's hands."
Cain looked down at the coin. It lay quietly on the table, glinting dully in the lamplight, looking no different from any ordinary old coin.
"I'm going," Cain said.
Marcus didn't answer immediately. He sat back in his chair, took a sip of water, and looked at Cain.
"Twilight Valley is more than a hundred miles from here. Through Ironwood Forest, over Grey Ridge Mountain, then two more days across flat land. There are Godservant patrols. Wild animals. And traps set by the gods."
"I know."
"You're ten years old."
"Almost eleven."
Marcus stared at him for a long moment, then sighed.
"You're as stubborn as your father."
"My father is dead," Cain said. "I won't be."
The corner of Marcus's mouth twitched—impossible to tell if he wanted to laugh or sigh.
"The full moon is in three days," he said. "You have three days to prepare. I'll send Hank with you."
"No," Cain said. "I'm going alone."
"No, you're not."
"This is what my father left for me. This is my fight."
Marcus stood. He was more than a head taller than Cain, and when he rose, his shadow swallowed the entire room.
"Listen to me." His voice was low, but every word drove into Cain's ears like a nail. "The Godslayer blood in your veins is what the gods fear most. If they find out you're alive and awakened, they'll send the entire Pillars after you. You're not strong enough yet. You couldn't even beat a low-ranking Godservant. So you cannot die. If you die, the Godslayer bloodline ends."
He bent down, bringing himself to Cain's eye level.
"So. You want to go to Twilight Valley? Fine. But Hank goes with you. This isn't a discussion. It's an order."
Cain looked into Marcus's eyes. He was silent for five seconds.
"Yes, sir."
The next morning, Cain went to find Iris.
She was on the training ground, shooting arrows. The target fifty paces away was thick with arrows, every one in the bullseye.
"I'm leaving for a few days," Cain said.
Iris's hand paused for a moment. Then she continued drawing the bow.
"Where?"
"I can't say."
The arrow split the air and struck the bullseye. Iris lowered her bow and turned to look at Cain.
"Dangerous?"
Cain didn't answer.
"That means dangerous." Iris's emerald eyes held no surprise. Only a calm, almost accepting expression. "You're always like this. Won't say what you mean. Won't admit when something's dangerous."
She pulled five arrows from her quiver and held them out to Cain.
"Last time I gave you three. You didn't use any of them. This time I'm giving you five. I hope you don't need to use any of these either."
Cain took the arrows and tucked them into his belt.
"You're not going to ask why I'm going?"
"Would you tell me if I asked?"
"No."
"Then why would I ask?"
Cain looked at her. His lips moved. He wanted to say "thank you," wanted to say "wait for me," wanted to say "don't worry." But all those words reached his mouth and turned into a single syllable:
"Okay."
Iris looked at him. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly.
"'Okay,' what. Go fast, come back fast."
She turned and continued shooting arrows.
Cain stood behind her, watching her back for a few seconds. Then he turned and left.
He didn't see that, the moment he turned away, Iris's arrow went wide.
Not a little wide. A lot wide.
The arrow struck the very edge of the target, barely missing a complete miss.
Iris lowered her bow, looked at the stray arrow, and said something softly.
Her voice was too quiet for anyone to hear.
On the morning of their departure, Lyra blocked Cain's path in the tunnel.
She said nothing. She just stood in front of him and pressed something into his hand. It wasn't the silver coin.
It was a woven cord.
The cord was made of coarse hemp rope, roughly woven—loose in some places, tight in others, the color uneven. But Cain could tell that the person who had woven it had spent a long time.
"You made this?" Cain asked.
Lyra nodded.
"When did you learn?"
"Last month. The teacher taught us," Lyra said, looking down at her toes. "She said everyone in the underground city should learn a craft. I chose weaving."
She looked up at him.
"This cord is the first thing I ever made. It's ugly, I know. But take it with you."
Cain looked down at the cord. The rope was dark brown, the color of earth. At one end of the cord was a knot—a big knot, like a small tumor.
"Why?"
"Because," Lyra said, "if you wear it, you'll remember that someone is waiting for you to come back."
Cain tied the cord around his left wrist. He tied it tight—so tight that the rope pressed into his skin.
"I'll come back," he said.
Lyra nodded. Her eyes reddened, but she didn't cry.
She had already learned not to cry.
Hank stood at the underground city's exit, a longbow strapped to his back, a broadsword at his hip, his leather boots worn white. He looked at Cain, then at the cord on Cain's left wrist, then at the sword at Cain's waist.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
"Then let's go."
They crawled out from beneath the old oak tree's roots and stepped into the morning forest.
The mist hadn't yet lifted. It drifted through the trees like a thin veil. Sunlight leaked through gaps in the leaves, dappling the ground with shifting patches of light and shadow. The air was cool, carrying the dampness of dew and the clean scent of pine resin.
Cain took a deep breath.
Nine months. This was only his second time leaving the underground city.
The first time, he had killed a wolf. He had come back covered in blood.
This time, he didn't know what he would come back with.
Hank walked ahead, his strides long but steady. He walked the way he talked—no wasted movement, no wasted energy.
"Twilight Valley is on the far side of Mount Skyreach," Hank said as they walked. "The gods' territory. We'll have to avoid the Godservant patrols. No main roads."
"You've walked this road before?" Cain asked.
"Yes," Hank said. "Twenty years ago. With your father."
Cain's step faltered.
"My father went to Twilight Valley?"
"He did." Hank didn't look back. "But he didn't go in. He didn't have the key. We just looked at the valley entrance and went back."
He was silent for a moment, then continued:
"Your father stood at the valley entrance for a long time. Then he said something—'Someday, my son will walk in here for me.'"
Cain's fingers tightened around his sword hilt.
"He didn't know 'someday' would come so fast," Hank said. "But he knew you would come."
They walked on in silence.
The trees of Ironwood Forest grew denser. The sunlight grew scarcer. The mist grew thicker. The path beneath their feet turned from dirt to gravel, then from gravel to moss-covered flagstones—stones laid in neat rows, as if someone had paved this road long ago.
Hank crouched down and touched the moss on the stones.
"This is an ancient road," he said. "Built in the age of the Godslayers."
Cain looked down at the stones. The moss on them was thick. In some places, small trees had taken root. But beneath the moss, he could see symbols carved into the stone—the same symbols as on the coin.
"They once lived here," Hank said, standing and brushing the dirt from his hands. "Before your father's father, before this mountain was taken by the gods—this was Godslayer land."
He walked on.
Cain followed, his left hand touching the cord on his wrist, his right hand on his sword hilt.
He thought of his father.
Thought of his father standing in the square, spine straight, arms spread wide.
Thought of the look in his father's eyes before he died.
Not hatred. Not fear.
Hope.
They reached Twilight Valley on the evening of the third day.
The valley entrance was narrow—barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. Vines and moss covered the stone walls on both sides, almost hiding the relief carvings beneath. But Cain could still see them—in the gaps between the vines, a human shape was visible.
A relief carving of a man. Sword in hand. Spine straight. Facing forward.
The same posture his father had died in.
The same posture as the figure on the bronze door in the underground hall.
"This is it," Hank said. "Your father stood right here, in front of this stone, all those years ago."
Cain walked to the valley entrance and placed his hand on the stone wall.
The stone was cold, damp with evening moisture. His fingers traced the lines of the relief carving, feeling every groove. At the base of the carving, he found a recess.
A circular recess.
He pulled the silver coin from his pocket and pressed it into the recess.
The coin fit perfectly.
Then the ground began to shake.
Not the dull grinding of gears like the bronze door in the underground city. A deeper sound—as if the earth itself were whispering. The vines on the stone walls began to wither and fall away, revealing the full relief carving beneath. The sword-wielding figure finally revealed its full form—its face too weathered by time to recognize, but its posture still clear: spine straight, arms spread wide, head lifted.
It was facing something.
Not a god. Not a human. Fate itself.
The stone walls of the valley entrance split apart, revealing a downward passage. The passage was pitch black—nothing visible inside—but a cold wind blew out from it, carrying an ancient smell. Not decay. Not dampness. The smell of time itself.
Hank took the longbow from his back and nocked an arrow.
"I'll go first," he said.
"No." Cain drew his sword. "I will."
Hank looked at him. He didn't argue.
"Stay close," Cain said.
He stepped into the passage.
Darkness swallowed him.
Behind him, Hank's steady footsteps followed.
Ahead of him, something waited.