The precarious refuge was increasingly becoming a trap. The food they'd managed to get in the risky foray to the city limits was running out, clean water was a distant luxury, and the few medical supplies Kael possessed were insufficient to properly treat his own wounds, let alone Andrel's, who remained pale and unstable, struggling to keep his fragmented Code cohesive against the Purification's reverberations and the strain of recent battles.

  The constant presence of Tyron patrols and System Guards around the dry docks, reported by Nox after his brief and dangerous reconnaissance trips, made every creak of the warehouse's old metal a jolt, every dancing shadow a potential threat. They needed to move. They needed resources. They needed a plan beyond mere hour-to-hour survival.

  "We can't stay here any longer," Nox said one particularly cold night, watching patrol lights sweep the distant skies through a hole in the ceiling. "They're tightening the noose in this district. They saw the bodies of the Tyron guards you and Lysa left in the tunnel. They're actively looking for us now. Matter of time until they find this place."

  "But where do we go?" Kael asked, his voice tired. He had tried meditating to speed healing, but the city's agitation and his own internal tension seemed to block any serenity. "The city is a deathtrap."

  "There are always... options," Nox replied, a calculating glint in his gray eyes. "Even in places like Lysendar. There are layers beneath the surface. Places the System doesn't like to look, and where the Purification might hesitate to delve too deep, fearing what it might find. The underworld."

  "Smugglers? Thieves? Assassins?" Kael frowned. "I don't know if we can trust..."

  "Trust is a luxury we don't have," Nox cut in. "But information and supplies are necessities. I know... or knew... some spots in low Lysendar. Black markets operating in the shadows, trading forbidden goods, information, silence. It's risky. Very risky. But better than waiting here to be cornered."

  Lysa, who had been silent, observing a makeshift map Andrel had drawn on the dusty floor with charcoal, looked up. The idea of plunging deeper into the city's bowels where the Tyrons reigned was unsettling, but inaction was worse. The proximity of Vareth and Lina was a constant itch under her skin, a mix of anger and opportunity that left her restless.

  "Can you take us to one of these markets, Nox? One that's... relatively discreet?" she asked.

  "Discreet is relative in times of Purification," he replied. "But I know one operating in the abandoned cargo tunnels under the old textile district. It's deep. Fetid. And full of people who prefer not to ask questions. I can try an old contact. An informant named Crow. He might know where to get what we need, or at least point us in the right direction. But it won't be free."

  "Nothing is," Lysa said. "Let's go. You and me. Kael, you stay with Andrel and Selene. Keep Rukk hidden and be ready to leave at any sign of trouble."

  Kael protested, worried about her going alone with Nox, but Lysa was firm. They needed Kael to protect the most vulnerable, and discretion was essential. Selene nodded silently, her eyes meeting Lysa's with tacit understanding.

  The journey to the abandoned textile district was a literal and figurative descent into Lysendar's depths. They left behind the open, rusty spaces of the docks and plunged into claustrophobic alleys, then forgotten service accesses, and finally into underground cargo tunnels, where the air was thick with the smell of mold, sewage, and accumulated despair. The sound of the city above was a distant, muffled murmur. Down here, silence was broken only by the constant drip of dirty water, the scuttling of unseen rats, and the echoes of their own cautious footsteps.

  Nox guided with unnerving confidence in that dark labyrinth, clearly familiar with the city's unmapped paths. After nearly an hour of tense walking, they reached a wider junction of tunnels, where faint, flickering light emanated from makeshift runic lanterns hanging from rusty pipes. There, in the deep shadows, the black market operated.

  It wasn't a bustling bazaar, but a silent, tense gathering of hooded figures. Wares were displayed on dirty cloths on the ground: stolen tech components, forbidden herbs promising oblivion or fleeting pleasure, makeshift weapons, information whispered in exchange for credits or favors. The atmosphere was one of paranoia and need. Every glance was suspicious, every transaction swift and silent. System patrols rarely came down here, but danger came from the patrons themselves – thieves, informants, desperate people willing to do anything for a crumb.

  Nox gestured for Lysa to wait in a dark corner while he approached a figure huddled near a pile of moldy textiles – likely his contact, Crow. Lysa observed the scene, senses alert, hand near Veyla's dagger. She saw the misery there, the direct result of the opulence gleaming on Lysendar's surface. The System didn't just create Zeros; it also created these shadows, these survival markets where dignity was the first currency exchanged.

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  It was then her eyes met those of a woman standing near a vendor of dubious potions. She was older, wore simple but clean clothes, and a hood partially covered her graying hair. There was something familiar in her posture, her worry-lined face. And when her eyes met Lysa's, they widened for a fraction of a second, an electric shock of recognition that made her freeze.

  Lysa recognized her too. Elara. Lina Tyron's confidante servant. The woman who had offered silent sympathy in the mansion years ago. What was she doing here, in this forgotten hole?

  Before Lysa could process, Elara quickly looked away, pulling her hood down to hide her face, and began moving away, trying to blend into the sparse crowd. But Lysa was already moving. Ignored Nox's silent warning to wait and intercepted Elara before she could disappear into another dark tunnel.

  "Elara?" Lysa said, her voice low but firm.

  The woman flinched, stopping, but without turning. "I... I don't know who you're talking about. Leave me alone."

  "I know who you are. You worked at Tyron Mansion. You were there when I was a prisoner. What are you doing here?"

  Elara finally turned, face pale under the faint runic lanterns, eyes full of panic. "Please, don't hurt me. I just... I needed medicine. For... for Lady Lina. She hasn't been well. And Lady Vareth refuses official healers for her... I didn't know where else to look..."

  The mention of Lina being ill surprised Lysa, but she remained suspicious. "Medicine? Or information for your mistress?"

  "No! Never!" Elara vehemently denied, hands clutching a small package she carried. "Lady Vareth frightens me more than anything. I worry about Lina. Despite everything, she's also a prisoner in that house, in her own way."

  Lysa studied her. Genuine fear was there, but also a weary decency she vaguely remembered. "You recognized me. That day, in the room. And now."

  Elara nodded, eyes welling up. "I never forgot you, child. The Zero who didn't cry. The one they displayed like a trophy. I saw what they did. What she" — she lowered her voice, referring to Lina — "did. I wanted to help, but I was just a servant. I was afraid."

  "Everyone was afraid in that house," Lysa said, the coldness in her voice lessening slightly. "What do you want, Elara?"

  The servant took a deep breath, visibly making a decision. She glanced around, ensuring no one was paying attention to their whispered conversation. "I can help you. I've heard things. Lady Vareth is obsessed with you, but not just to hand you over to the System. She talks about your Code. Your ability to rupture. She has something old stored in the mansion's underground vaults. Something she studies in secret. I don't know what it is, but I've heard whispers among the older guards. They speak of an 'Echo,' a fragment of power that doesn't belong to the System. They say it resonates with anomalies like you."

  Lysa's heart pounded. An Echo. One of the Three Echoes Aion and the Sentinel mentioned. Here? In Tyron Mansion? The irony was almost unbearable. Her vengeance and her mission were intertwined in a way she couldn't have predicted.

  "What else do you know?" Lysa pressed.

  "I know routines. Guards. Servant passwords for service areas. I know Lady Vareth receives secret visits from a man named Sario Ulven. I know she has an entire wing of the mansion protected by runes even the System Guard can't easily penetrate. And I know she keeps this 'Echo' in a protected location." Elara trembled as she spoke, clearly terrified by what she was revealing.

  "Why are you telling us this?" Lysa asked, skeptical.

  Elara's eyes met hers again, pleading. "Because maybe you're the only one who can stop Vareth. She's getting more reckless. Crueler. Especially with Lina. I fear what she might do. And because I remember you. And maybe... maybe there's a chance to fix something." She stepped closer. "I will give you everything I know. Mental maps of service routes, guard change schedules, the likely vault location. But I ask, I beg one thing in return."

  "What?"

  "Lina. When you go there, please, spare Lina. She was cruel, yes. A spoiled, frightened child, manipulated by her mother. But she isn't Vareth. There's some good in her, buried deep. Don't kill her. Give her a chance to escape. To choose differently. It's all I ask."

  Lysa fell silent, processing. The information was invaluable. An Echo. Intel on the mansion. But the price... spare Lina? The girl who electrocuted her for fun? Who laughed while she was humiliated? The old anger bubbled, but Aion's words echoed: two songs. Vengeance and... something else.

  She looked at Elara, at the fear and desperate hope in her eyes. Saw a woman risking everything for a complicated and perhaps misplaced loyalty. Saw another victim of the Tyron system.

  "I..." Lysa began, the decision weighing on her. "I cannot promise mercy where it isn't deserved. But I will do what I can to ensure she has a choice. If she doesn't stand in our way, if she chooses differently, she will live. But if she chooses her mother's side, if she tries to stop us, then the consequences will be hers."

  Elara seemed to deflate slightly, perhaps hoping for a firmer promise, but nodded with tears in her eyes. "It's more than I expected. Thank you." She quickly passed a small data crystal to Lysa. "Here is the basic information. Schedules, routes. Memorize and destroy. If you need more, leave a specific sign – an ash flower – near the old west service gate, three nights from now. I will try to make contact. But be careful. The mansion hears everything."

  With a last frightened look, Elara pulled up her hood and disappeared into the black market's shadows, leaving Lysa with the data crystal, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, and the shocking revelation that one of the greatest prizes of her quest was held in the heart of her most personal enemy's fortress. The visit to the underworld had yielded more than supplies; it yielded a dangerous path and an unlikely alliance, forged in fear and fractured hope. The web in Lysendar grew more complex with every step.