It lingered in the corner of my vision, pulsing faintly like a stern reminder.
UNLICENSED ALCHEMICAL ACTIVITY LOGGED
Enforcement Risk: Increased
That was new, and the implications were unsettling. Logging implied memory, and memory implied follow-through.
I tried to gather my wits, but my focus shattered as voices echoed above the tunnel. They were much clearer now. I could hear the steady stride of boots on stone. Deliberate strides. Whoever was coming didn’t sound lost.
I shoved the vial into the only safe place I had, wedged tight against my ribs under a fold of cloth. The slick glass felt like a liability I could not afford to drop, not down here.
I kept walking because stopping felt like an invitation. The Undercity did not need to post rules on the wall, it taught them by punishing the people who forgot to move.
The tunnels twisted and forked in ways that felt deliberate, as if they had been designed to confuse anyone without a map or a reason to be there. But there was more to it than confusion. Some passages felt older, lower, built for water and waste. Others felt like later additions, patched corridors and bricked arches, the city building on its own failures.
I saw no obvious paths to the surface. I followed the water at first, then veered away when the passage narrowed into something too exposed.
The light dimmed as I moved farther from the crystal-lined canal. The air grew warmer, heavier. Less rot, more smoke. Old smoke.
That was when I heard footsteps behind me.
Lighter than the ones above. Faster, too.
I turned just as someone slipped out of a side passage ahead of me.
He was young. Late teens, maybe. Thin, wrapped in layered cloth that had once been brown and was now several shades of grime. A satchel hung at his hip, patched and restitched so many times it barely looked like the same piece anymore.
His eyes flicked to my hands. Then to my chest. Then, very deliberately, to the place where I had hidden the vial.
He smiled.
“Hey,” he said softly, raising both hands. “Relax. I ain’t here to turn you in.”
That statement made me the opposite of relaxed.
“Move,” I said. It came out sharper than I intended.
He ignored my terse command.
“You are new,” he said instead. “Surface-new. In mana rich places like the Undercity, certain actions ripple. Crafting, for example.”
I shifted my weight, already calculating exits. Three passages nearby. Two felt like dead ends if my intuition was right. The third sloped downward into darker territory.
Something about the downward slope made my skin prickle. Heavier air. A faint sweetness under the rot. Like standing near a spill still offgassing, invisible but present.
The boy followed my gaze and chuckled.
“Yeah,” he said. “That one floods twice a day at the third and ninth bell. Water comes first. Mana comes after. Personally, I wouldn’t recommend it.”
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I clenched my jaw and looked him in the face. I knew his type. This was where the pressure came.
“What do you want?” I asked.
His eyes flicked back to my chest. He sniffed once, subtle and practiced.
“You got something fresh,” he said. “Alchemical. Crude, but clean.”
My heartbeat spiked.
“I am unsure what you think I have,” I said, “but you are wrong.”
He tilted his head. “Maybe. Or maybe you brewed a draught without a license. That would mark you as a surface amateur hiding from authority in the Undercity, where the guards rarely tread. And you probably don’t know yet that any potion, especially low-grade draughts, glow under shard light.”
My stomach dropped.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Relax. If I were a guard or a guild enforcer, you would already be on the ground.”
That wasn’t particularly comforting.
“So,” he continued, straightening. “Are you licensed?”
I answered with silence.
He exhaled through his nose, half impressed, half annoyed. “Figures. First brew and already glowing through your jacket. Either you have talent, or terrible luck.”
“Move,” I said again.
This time, he stepped aside just enough to clear the passage. “You can go,” he said. “Or you can trade.”
I hesitated.
“What kind of trade?” I asked.
“Information,” he said immediately, grinning like he had caught his prey. “Safe routes. Blind spots. Places you can work without tripping every warning in the city.”
That got my attention. He said city, versus system.
“What do you want?” I asked.
His grin widened. “Proof.”
Slowly, carefully, I pulled the vial free. The cloudy liquid caught the dim crystal light and shimmered faintly.
His eyes widened, just a fraction.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “That will do.”
I did not want to hand it over.
“This is all I have,” I said.
“It will do,” he replied. “I ain’t greedy.”
I made my choice and passed him the vial.
He slipped it into his satchel and loosened the strap of a folded map stitched into the lining.
“Name is Trent,” he said. “City runner. Part-time fence. Sometimes neither.”
He pointed down the darker passage. “Follow that for two turns, then cut left when the stone goes smooth. There is an old pressure chamber there. No crystals, so you will need a light source. No watchers. It sits in a dead spot in the enforcement wards. Smells worse than this, but the system mostly ignores it.”
Dead spot.
Like a drain in a floor. Like the city’s mana had to go somewhere, and the lowest places collected the spill until it became a pool.
“Why tell me this?” I asked.
Trent shrugged. “Because you didn’t lie. You stayed quiet. And because if you can make that without tools, someone will notice eventually.” He held out a hand. “You have potential. I like to network.”
I ignored his hand.
He withdrew it and turned to leave. After a few steps, he paused.
“Next time,” he said over his shoulder, “watch for the glow. That is what got you caught.”
Then he was gone, footsteps fading fast.
I stood there, heart pounding.
Despite the warning, he had also mentioned I would need a light source.
I repeated the process three times in quick succession.
ITEM CREATED x3: Crude Vitality Draught
- Restores minor stamina
- Side Effects: Nausea, Bitter Taste
- Quality: Poor
The warning icon brightened, then dimmed, settling into a steady glow.
I moved.
The pressure chamber was exactly where Trent said it would be. Low ceiling. Dry stone. No crystals. My foresight paid off as the potions gave off a soft, waning glow, as if the canal shards had charged them earlier.
The air tasted metallic and stale, but it felt safe in the way abandoned places sometimes do.
I sat against the wall and took stock.
No license. A skill that flagged me the moment I used it.
Somewhere above me, enforcement walked their routes. Somewhere nearby, runners whispered names. Somewhere ahead, there was profit, danger, and leverage.
I closed my eyes and laughed quietly.
Different world. Same mistakes.
But this time, I knew the rules.
And I was already breaking them.