The market was dying.

  Magic burned in the air, thick and electric, turning the mist into veins of color that spidered across the shadows like living lightning. Every surface bled darkness, walls leaking ink, stalls sagging under invisible weight. Cracked stones trembled beneath the stomping of undead feet, too many, far too many. The whole place felt like it was inhaling its last breath, a ruin collapsing into its own lungs.

  Dante staggered backward. His lungs were raw, scraped clean by smoke and fear, and light still flickered under his skin like trapped fireflies desperate to escape. His vision swam. The world pulsed in and out of focus, the edges of his sight dimming as if shadows clung to him, refusing to let go.

  He couldn’t even look at the bodies.

  Not yet.

  Not again.

  If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d come back from it this time.

  Kyric’s crossbow whined dry. He slapped the empty mechanism, cursed loud enough to make a corpse flinch, and tossed it aside. He yanked out his short sword with a flourish that was more fury than finesse. “We’re outnumbered by a city!”

  Valokyr barked a jagged laugh, the kind you make when you’re seconds from being swallowed alive. “Then start cutting smaller pieces!”

  Koi slammed her fist through a rotting skull. Bone cracked, popped, and powdered across her knuckles, but another corpse lurched forward to replace it, hands grasping, mouth gnashing. “This isn’t working!” she snapped, kicking it aside. “We need an exit!”

  Amid the chaos, the hooded Rise agent stood a few paces away, impossibly calm. While everyone else bled desperation, she radiated a stillness so deliberate it sliced through the noise. She held the knife-shaped key between two fingers like it weighed nothing, the blade shimmering with an edge that didn’t belong to any metal Dante recognized.

  “Then follow me,” she said.

  And she plunged it into empty air.

  Reality bent.

  Metal groaned like something vast and ancient stirring awake. A door, an iron monolith the color of drowned steel, formed out of nothing, settling against a collapsed stone wall with a sound like grinding bones. Cold radiated from it, deep cold, ocean-floor cold, the kind that soaked into joints and memory.

  Valerik sliced down a lunging ghoul before it could sink teeth into her shoulder. “How long does it stay open?”

  She didn’t answer. She twisted the handle with calm precision and stepped through as easily as stepping between heartbeats.

  Kyric grabbed Koi’s arm and shoved her after. “Move! Before the whole place decides we go with it!”

  The group fell back together, blood under their boots, smoke in their lungs, stones cracking overhead as the dying market let out one last shaking groan.

  Dante paused at the threshold. Breath caught in his throat. Below them, the lower levels swarmed, an ocean of undead, an endless tide of hunger and rot filling the chasms like living tar. There was no victory here. There never had been. Only survival bought by seconds.

  Kaiya reached back and seized his wrist. Her fingers were warm. Steady. Human. She tugged once, firm, grounding, and pulled him through.

  The door slammed shut behind them like the world snapping its jaws closed.

  Silence.

  Then…

  bass.

  A low, slow pulse, deep enough to thrum in their ribs, steady enough to feel like a heartbeat under their feet. The floor hummed with it, the walls answering in soft vibration.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Light unfurled around them in gentle waves of red and gold, rolling across the room like heat radiating off coals. The stench of death peeled away all at once, replaced by incense, floral perfume sharp as arrowheads, and the faint metallic sweetness of spilled alcohol.

  They stood in a room that didn’t feel built. It felt curated.

  Stitched together from another world.

  A club carved out of reality’s bones and dressed like a secret.

  Velvet couches in deep wine reds lounged across the space like sleeping beasts.

  Holographic sigils looped above the tables, drifting lazily like bored spirits tracing the same circles over and over.

  On the far side, a stage glowed with shifting amber and lilac lights. An elven dancer spun around a pole with liquid grace, her movements a soft blur, smoke caught in a breeze. Her silvery dress flowed like molten moonlight, bare feet stepping into the air as if the floor bowed to her rhythm.

  Koi staggered, blinking hard. “We just ran from hell into… whatever this is.”

  Kyric had already mapped the bar, exits, crowd, escape routes, one sweeping glance, professional instinct. “If this is the afterlife,” he muttered, “it’s got better music than I expected.”

  The Rise agent clicked the door shut behind them. She withdrew the knife-key, and the threshold shimmered, edges bending, dissolving, until only an ordinary wall remained, seamless and unassuming.

  “Welcome,” she said, her voice smooth again, untouched by their frantic escape, “to one of our safer holdings.”

  Her gaze lifted, shifting across the room.

  At the far end, Khione lounged on a crimson couch, relaxed, almost expectant, as if she’d known exactly when they’d walk through the door.

  Beside her sat a minotaur in a tailored vest, cigar glowing faintly between heavy teeth. Other Rise agents lounged nearby, all attempting casual nonchalance and failing.

  Khione’s smile widened when she saw the group, warm, wry, like someone greeting guests who arrived covered in blood but on time. “Rough night?”

  Valokyr huffed a small laugh. “We’re still breathing. That counts.”

  Dante didn’t laugh. He barely breathed. His eyes dropped to his hands, still trembling, still haloed with that thin edge of shadow clinging to him like smoke that refused to dissipate. His stomach twisted. He swallowed hard against the rising nausea.

  Kaiya drifted closer, hovering just at his side. Silent support. A tether.

  Before anyone else could speak, the minotaur’s heavy gaze landed on Xander.

  His ears perked.

  “Oh,” he rumbled, voice warm as a hearth. “Who is this fuzzy good boy?”

  Xander’s tail betrayed him instantly, one eager wag, and he trotted straight toward the mountain of a man. Ferdinand welcomed him with both hands, scratching between his ears, along his spine, behind his neck with surprising gentleness. The big man practically purred.

  A curtain rustled, and a tall elven woman stepped out. Armor black and red, leather creaking with controlled movement. Bright red hair woven tight into a precise braid. A black eyepatch cut a harsh angle across her face.

  “Ebanoir.” Her voice sliced through the room, clean as sharpened steel. She didn’t raise it. She didn’t need to. The Rise agent straightened instantly. “Debrief.” She nodded toward the adjoining door.

  Then her visible eye flicked toward Koi, Kyric, Valokyr. “You three as well.”

  Kyric let out a tiny laugh. “Oh, we’re notoriously bad at following directions, miss..”

  “Not while you’re under my roof.”

  No threat. No room for argument. Just direct, bone-deep authority.

  Valokyr nudged Kyric. “Fool.”

  The four followed her through the curtain.

  Meanwhile, the elven dancer onstage gripped the pole, then it shrank in an instant, collapsing into a short baton she tucked under her arm as she descended with predatory grace.

  A horned woman replaced her, skin like swirling black ink on white marble. Dressed in layered red sashes. The stage lights dimmed, then flared. Fire circled her in a living ring as she spun, smoke trailing her limbs like devotion.

  Angel finally eased onto a couch, muscles still coiled tight. Her eyes stayed glued to the wall where the door had been. She had been waiting, half convinced the undead would burst through anyway, reality be damned.

  But the wall remained still. Quiet.

  As she exhaled, she murmured, almost to herself, “So that’s city two that’s been attacked…”

  “Hopefully only two so far.”

  Valerik’s voice softened a shade, rare for him. His attention drifted to Dante, pale, shaking, hunched in the chair like he was trying to hold himself together with will alone. “You gonna hold it together, kid?”

  Dante’s breath dragged unevenly. He met Kaiya’s steady gaze, found something to anchor against, and forced out, “I will be fine.”

  His voice hovered, half exhaustion, half stubborn refusal to crumble.

  Kaiya gave him a small, relieved nod before walking toward Xander and the minotaur.

  Up close, Ferdinand was even larger, more bull than man. Black fur, thick and glossy. Horns curved like carved obsidian. He looked like he could lift the couch, and the two people on it, with one hand.

  But he pet Xander with the delicate precision of someone holding a newborn.

  Khione sat beside him, pale elven features framed by white hair and bright pink armor that absolutely should not have worked, but somehow did.

  Both of them looked delighted by the dog.

  Kaiya raised a hand awkwardly. “Hi, his name..”

  “Xander,” Ferdinand said, smiling. “Hello, Kaiya. I’m Ferdinand.”

  Kaiya blinked slow. “How did you know?”

  “He told me.” Ferdinand chuckled, low and rumbling like distant thunder. “He told me quite a lot about you, actually.”

  Kaiya looked at Xander, who yawned as if deeply pleased with himself.

  “Good things,” Ferdinand added warmly. “Mostly. Though he was very distressed about ‘the Blue Horn’s Grove.’”

  Kaiya’s breath hitched. The ache bloomed instantly. “Rheya. Yes… her grove was taken by the curse. She stayed behind.”

  Khione leaned forward, voice gentle. “We’ll keep an eye out for your friend.”

  Kaiya swallowed tightly. “Thank you.”

  A soft melancholy voice floated in behind her.

  “Snack?”

  Kaiya turned.

  The elven dancer now stood behind her, holding a tray of colorful pastries. Close up, her expression was serene but unreadable, tempered like glass that had been heated and cooled too many times.

  “Thank you, Shimmer,” Khione chimed, grabbing a bright blue pastry with delight.

  Shimmer’s eyebrow lifted slightly toward Kaiya, a silent offering, or a quiet curiosity.

  Kaiya took one. Bit in. Warmth rippled through her chest, muscles relaxing, dull aches fading, exhaustion peeling back layer by layer. A subtle magic, soft and thorough.

  “So good, right?” Khione hummed. “Like a bite-sized healing potion.” She waved happily as Shimmer drifted away toward the others.

  “She looks pleased…” Kaiya murmured.

  “Oh, she made you cookies,” Ferdinand chuckled. “She’s in a great mood.”

  “So…” Kaiya ventured, “who was the lady with the eyepatch?”

  Khione’s brows rose. “That’s Rise herself. Our boss.”

  “Only thing sharper than her dagger is her mind,” Ferdinand added, still scratching Xander’s chin.

  The curtain rustled.

  And every eye in the room shifted towards Rise.