The darkness swallowed Aren whole as he stepped onto the spiral stairs. Each footstep echoed creepily in the tight space. The air grew heavy and cool, thick with the scent of wet stone and something stale and close, like air trapped for centuries.

  He counted the steps instinctively, losing track somewhere past two hundred. It felt like descending into the planet's guts. Must be at least thirty meters, he estimated. How am I going to climb up when I leave? I should have left the damn backpack by the river.

  Finally, the oppressive curve straightened, opening into a short, level passage carved directly from the rock. Ahead, set deep into the natural stone, was a door. A thick, dark metal, pitted and ancient-looking, secured with massive rivets that spoke of immense strength.

  Aren hesitated for only a moment before rapping his knuckles against the cold surface. The sound was surprisingly dull, absorbed by the sheer mass of the door. Silence followed. Then, a grating sound came from a small slit that opened near eye level. A pair of eyes peered out, blurry in the gloom.

  "State your purpose," the voice rumbled.

  Aren cleared his throat. "The moon's shadow hides the merchant's hand."

  The eyes lingered for another moment, then the slit slammed shut. With a groan that vibrated through the floor, heavy locking mechanisms retracted within the door. Slowly the immense metal slab swung inward, revealing not a welcoming hall, but a figure that blocked nearly the entire doorway.

  Aren took half a step back just to be able to look at the man. The guard was colossal. Easily two and a half meters tall, maybe more, with shoulders as broad as a small cart. His features were crude, heavy-browed, with small, deep-set eyes that held little intelligence, only a watchful stillness.

  The giant simply stood there, a blank gaze on his face. Aren squeezed past and found himself on the threshold of a vast underground cavern. The sheer scale of it was breathtaking, dwarfing the small riverside settlement he’d passed through earlier. The ceiling arched high overhead, lost in shadow despite the numerous light sources. Crystals, ranging in size from tiny shards to fist-sized clusters, were embedded everywhere – studding the ceiling like captive stars, jutting from the uneven rock walls, even set into the packed earth floor. They pulsed with a soft, ambient light, bathing the cavern in a cool, bluish-white glow.

  Within this subterranean world, a chaotic settlement sprawled outwards. Buildings, mostly constructed from rough-hewn timber and salvaged materials, were crammed together at odd angles, some looking like they might fall over, others built directly against the cavern walls. Ramshackle huts filled the spaces between larger structures. Despite the apparent disorganization, distinct paths and wider 'streets', worn smooth by countless footsteps, snaked through the jumble of dwellings and market stalls.

  Aren turned back to the hulking guard, who was now standing impassively beside the closed door. "Excuse me," Aren began, trying to project confidence he didn't entirely feel. "I'm looking for someone named Lycas. Could you point me in the right direction?"

  The guard's small eyes flickered towards him, then away. "Ask inside," he rumbled, his voice devoid of inflection.

  Helpful. Thanks. Aren suppressed a sigh and turned towards the heart of the cavern. He started walking along one of the main pathways, hefting his backpack slightly. People milled about – humans of all descriptions, rough-looking and wary, but also those who displayed wealth and confidence. Most ignored him, their attention focused on their own business, their faces shadowed and guarded. This wasn't a place for idle curiosity. Everyone here had a purpose, usually one they preferred to keep quiet. Aren occasionally spotted stone ruins, but they were scant – just a column or a fragment of wall here and there. Clearly, something else was built here before this pathetic settlement.

  Aren needed directions. Spotting one of the most inviting-looking huts, he knocked and entered. Inside, he found a small library filled with books and scrolls reaching towards the ceiling. Aren approached the vendor, a gaunt man with messy hair and eyes that darted nervously between the other visitors.

  "Excuse me," Aren said, keeping his voice neutral and low. "I'm looking for someone named Lycas."

  The merchant glanced up. "Lycas?" he rasped, his voice thin and reedy. He spat onto the floor. "Big shot like him? Stays in the brick tower." He jerked a thumb vaguely over his shoulder.

  Brick tower. Sounds promising for this place. Must be somewhere behind this hut. "Thanks," Aren muttered, walking to the exit.

  He went out and around the hut. Looking in the direction the merchant pointed, Aren could just make out the top of a taller, more solidly built structure rising above the jumble of wooden roofs.

  Aren followed the merchant's gesture, navigating the uneven streets. The path twisted and turned, passing stalls selling everything from glowing fungi and strangely shaped tools to dusty vials filled with murky liquids. Aren expected to see some terrible things, like slaves being sold. But that kind of business didn't happen out in the open here. The tower grew larger as he approached, confirming its status. Unlike the surrounding wooden shacks, it was constructed from dark, sturdy bricks, rising three stories high – a skyscraper in this low-slung environment. Deeper in the cavern, however, Aren spotted even more impressive structures. These resembled an ancient stone citadel, with architecture unlike anything he had ever seen: squared and monolithic.

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  So, Lycas isn't the top dog here.

  The entrance to the brick tower was a solid, dark wooden door reinforced with iron bands. A small, barred window was set into it at eye level. Aren stepped up and knocked firmly.

  Silence for a beat, then a gruff voice from within barked, "What?"

  "Lycas sent for me."

  After a moment, bolts were drawn, and the door creaked open just wide enough for him to enter. A man stood there, blocking the way. A hefty club hung from his belt. He looked Aren up and down, his expression unfriendly.

  "Third floor," the guard grunted. "Don't touch anything." He stepped aside grudgingly.

  Aren slipped past him into the tower's interior. The door slammed shut behind him. He was in a small, cramped entryway at the foot of a narrow, winding brick staircase. It was definitely cleaner here than the streets outside, the air less thick with market smells. The crystal light filtering in from small, high windows was dimmer, lending the space a quieter, more secretive atmosphere.

  He began the ascent, his boots echoing softly on the brick steps. The climb was tight, the walls close on either side. Reaching the third floor, he found himself in a surprisingly spacious room that clearly served as Lycas's main base of operations. Maps – detailed charts of coastlines, city layouts, and perhaps even tunnel systems – were spread across a large wooden table, weighted down with polished stones. Strange artifacts rested on shelves: oddly shaped crystals, intricate devices, a wickedly curved dagger displayed on velvet. The air smelled faintly of expensive pipe tobacco and oiled metal.

  Lycas stood near a narrow window, seemingly gazing out at the chaotic market below, though Aren suspected he was observing his reflection. He didn't turn immediately as Aren entered, letting the silence stretch for a moment.

  "Took you long enough," Lycas finally said, his voice smooth and devoid of any real annoyance. He turned and assessed Aren quickly. "Get comfortable, we have a lot to discuss."

  Aren dropped his heavy backpack near the doorway and sat on the chair by the wall.

  Lycas smirked faintly, gesturing towards the maps on the table. "Now, for why I brought you here. You owe me, Aren, and I intend to collect. Make no mistake about that." His gaze sharpened. "But I also see… potential. Your little display back in that shack in Stormia, dealing with those thugs… it was noteworthy."

  He moved around the table, picking up a pencil and turning it over in his fingers. "I need information. Information that's hard to get because certain doors, certain circles, are closed to me these days." He looked directly at Aren. "There is a place that elites of questionable morals and loyalties often visit. It calls itself The Golden Ursai. It's a casino mansion near Silon – a town a few days' travel from here. They cater to the richer scum. Merchants hiding profits, nobles looking for thrills they can't find at court, that sort."

  Lycas leaned against the table. "They're hosting a private auction soon. High stakes, invitation only, separate from the usual gambling pits. 'Lot #7' is generating whispers. Some say it's an artifact, some say it's a new kind of device. Dangerous, powerful… or maybe just shiny junk. I need to know what it is. What it does, if possible. More importantly," his voice hardened slightly, "I need the auction details. The precise location – they move it around. The date and time. What kind of security they're planning. And who the big players are, who's showing serious interest in this Lot #7."

  He paused, letting the weight of the task sink in. "Your source is a man named Cato Whisperwind. He used to be a respected expert on artifacts for the big auction houses. Now? Now he's a washed-up gambler, drowning his sorrows and his coin at the Golden Ursai. Find his table – he favors cards. Get him drinking, loosen his tongue. He loves to boast about his past glories, about the things he's seen and handled. He might know something about Lot #7, or at least know who would know."

  Lycas reached into a pouch at his belt and produced a small, ornate token made of dark metal, shaped like a large coin. "This is my pass to the Golden Ursai. It should grant you entry." He tossed it to Aren, who caught it instinctively. The metal felt cool and heavy. "But it marks you," Lycas warned, his eyes narrowing. "I have… history with one of the casino's main guys, a man named Remus. Bad history. If he, or one of his men, spots you with that token, he'll try to make trouble. He won't start a common brawl—that's bad for his image, mixing with the casino's guests. Instead, he'll use his influence to twist the house rules and get you thrown out. Or maybe arrange a less pleasant welcome for you outside. Your job is to handle him if he interferes. Quietly. Discreetly." Lycas tapped his temple. "Use that mature brain of yours, or those quick hands you demonstrated. Blend in, play the part, but don't get kicked out before you get the information."

  He straightened up. "The auction isn't immediate, but we should act quickly. I want that information within ten days from today. Get yourself to Silon, find the Golden Ursai, infiltrate it, find Cato, get him talking, deal with Remus if necessary, and get back here with everything I need. Don't fail me, Aren."

  Lycas tossed a small, clinking pouch onto the table beside the token. "Directions to Silon and the casino are in there. Enough coin for travel, a decent seat at Cato's table, and enough wine to loosen his tongue considerably. Don't gamble it away trying to get rich."

  Aren picked up the token and the pouch, the weight of the coins surprisingly substantial. He tucked them securely away, his mind already racing, processing the layers of the task. Infiltration, information gathering, social maneuvering, potential conflict with some big shot… all while operating under Lycas's scrutiny. It was complex, dangerous, and undeniably intriguing. Before turning to leave, he paused, meeting Lycas's calculating gaze.

  "One thing," Aren said, his voice steady. "Before I go. Some mercenaries attacked the Duke's daughter recently. You run in the shadows, you hear things. I want to know who hired them."

  Lycas's lips curved into that familiar smirk. "The information isn't free, especially not the kind that could bring powerful people down on my head. You want me to risk asking questions that could paint a target on both our backs?" He leaned forward slightly. "You need to prove you're worth that kind of trouble, that kind of risk. Do your task, do it well, without drawing unwanted attention to my operations. Then," he emphasized the word, "we'll talk about looking into your little noble problem. Consider it a down payment on the debt you still owe me, and a test of your value. Now go. Time is wasting."

  Aren held Lycas's gaze for a moment longer, recognizing the finality in his tone. It was a transaction, pure and simple. Information for service. Debt repayment intertwined with proving his usefulness. He gave a curt nod. "Understood."

  Without another word, he turned, hefted his backpack – which suddenly felt less burdensome compared to the weight of the mission – and left Lycas's chamber. He descended the narrow brick stairs, the guard at the bottom giving him another hard stare as he exited the tower back into the strange, crystal-lit bustle of the Black Market.

  Okay, old man, he thought, navigating the uneven streets back towards the entrance tunnel, first step: get out of this hole and figure out the quickest way to Silon. I gotta learn how to ride a horse; there is no way around it.