By the time Miss Nanda marched us back into the classroom, my legs felt like they'd been wrung out and hung to dry.
Not in a dramatic way. In the way where every step still worked, but each one asked for a little more effort than the last. My ribs had stopped complaining loudly and started complaining quietly, which was worse. Quiet meant I could ignore it until I moved wrong—then it reminded me all at once.
"Sit," Miss Nanda said the moment we filed in.
The chairs scraped. Everyone collapsed into their places with the loose-limbed relief only kids had, like we'd just finished running a mile and now the world owed us a break.
Miss Nanda stood at the front with her arms crossed and watched us breathe.
"You did not die," she said flatly, as if that was today's lesson summary. "That is progress."
A few kids giggled.
Her eyes flicked toward the sound.
The giggles died.
"Gather your things," she said. "You are dismissed. If you return tomorrow sore, that means you trained correctly. If you return tomorrow injured, that means you trained stupidly."
Her gaze landed on my sling for half a second.
Not accusation. Not pity. Just a simple statement: You exist like this. Adjust.
"Yes, ma'am," the class mumbled.
Then she was gone, leaving the room behind like she'd never been part of it.
The moment the door clicked shut, the classroom broke back into noise.
Kids reached for bags. Wooden practice swords clacked as they were shoved away. Milo jumped to his feet like he still had energy stored somewhere in his bones. Bruen moved slower, methodical, checking his gear the way a craftman checked tools.
Lina didn't have much gear at all. She hovered near the window with her practice sword held like it was something someone had forced into her hands as a joke. Her eyes kept flicking to me like she'd been waiting for dismissal.
When I stood—carefully—she slid over immediately.
"Trey," she said, bright and conspiratorial. "So."
"So?" I repeated, because I didn't know what else to do when Lina decided a conversation was happening.
She leaned closer, hands behind her back like she was about to reveal a secret. "Are you interested in monsters?"
I blinked. "What?"
Lina nodded like that was the correct answer. "Okay, I'll start. Most monsters used to be animals."
Arlo, two desks away, paused mid-pack. His head angled slightly as if his ears were doing the listening for him.
Mya was at her seat, carefully folding her things with both hands like if she rushed, the paper might tear. Her eyes flicked up when Lina said monsters, then down again, shy as ever but clearly listening.
Lina continued, undeterred. "You know—wolves, deer, birds. Normal things. But then they get exposed to miasma and they change. Mutate. Grow weird parts. Get bigger. Meaner. And then—boom—monster."
"Miasma," I repeated, rolling the word in my mouth.
I'd heard it a hundred times. In warnings. In whispers. In the way adults talked about the Abyss like it was a storm that could seep into your lungs.
But hearing it said casually by a ten-year-old with excited eyes made it feel different.
Smaller.
Safer.
Which was stupid.
I kept my voice neutral. "Where does miasma come from?"
Lina's enthusiasm faltered just a little. She scrunched her face. "Uh…"
She glanced sideways like she expected a monster expert to pop out from under a desk.
"…I don't know," she admitted, then immediately recovered. "But it's like, everywhere around the dungeon, right? Like fog. Poison fog."
Poison fog.
My stomach tightened at the words, and I forced my expression to stay normal.
Because my mind had already wandered somewhere I didn't want it to.
A dark place under the world.
A place where filters mattered.
A place where if a filter ran out—
I cut the thought off before it could become a picture.
I couldn't afford pictures.
I couldn't afford anything that made me look… eager.
Not after Emelyn.
Not after learning that a noble family's attention could be a hook in your ribs.
Lina tilted her head. "Why? Do you want to know?"
"I'm just curious," I lied.
Arlo closed his bag with a soft thump and finally turned fully toward us, his thoughtful expression sharpening the way it always did when he smelled a question.
"Miasma is an energy phenomenon," he said, as if he'd been waiting all day to say those words. "It's referenced in multiple modern texts, but the sources disagree on its origin."
Lina's eyes widened, delighted. "Ooh. You sound like my dad when he talks about taxes."
Arlo blinked, offended on principle. "That is not—"
He stopped himself, adjusted his glasses with one finger, and continued with forced patience.
"If you actually want to know anything concrete," he said, "then guessing isn't useful."
Lina's grin widened. "So we should—what—ask a monster?"
Arlo stared at her like she'd proposed licking a slime.
"We should read," he said, voice firm.
He puffed a fraction, pride slipping out despite himself. "My family has a library. A real one. If you want to learn about miasma, there is no better place than the books in my house."
Lina lit up like someone had offered her fireworks.
"Let's go!" she said instantly.
Arlo hesitated. His confidence wavered for half a heartbeat—just enough to remind me he was still a kid asking classmates to his home.
Then he lifted his chin again. "It's two o'clock. It's not late."
Lina bounced on her heels. "Yes! Library adventure!"
Mya's chair scraped softly.
She had stood.
She hovered half a step closer—between me and Lina without fully meaning to, like her body moved before her courage caught up.
"M-may I…" she started.
Her voice nearly vanished.
Arlo looked at her, surprised, then softened in a way I didn't expect from him.
"Of course," he said quickly. "If you want."
Mya's cheeks pinked. She nodded once, fast, like if she didn't do it now she'd lose the nerve.
"…I want to," she whispered.
Lina clapped her hands. "Group library mission!"
Arlo turned, scanning the room, and raised his voice just enough.
"Milo. Bruen," he called. "Do you want to come too?"
Milo spun around immediately, eyes shining. "I can't!"
Arlo blinked. "You can't?"
Milo shook his head with dramatic seriousness. "I'm going to the Hendeca Monument with Todd."
The name landed like a familiar stone.
Todd—fifteen, older, already ranked F-plus, already walking around like the world was a story he could step into.
Milo's voice grew reverent. "He said he'll tell me which hero's inscription is the real one, not the tourist one."
Lina gasped. "There are tourist inscriptions?"
Milo nodded hard. "Todd says yes."
"Bruen?" Arlo called, voice a little louder. "Do you want to come to the library too—yes or no?"
Bruen didn't even look up from tightening the strap on his bag.
"No," he said, simple as a hammer. "Dad needs help."
Arlo nodded, accepting both answers like he'd expected them.
"Fine," he said. Then he looked at the three of us—me, Mya, Lina—and his eyes sharpened again, pleased in a quiet way. "Then we go."
I adjusted the sling strap with my good hand and forced myself to breathe normally.
It was just a library.
Just kids walking through town.
Just… learning.
And yet my heart thudded like I'd agreed to something dangerous.
Because somewhere under my careful calm, my real reason pulsed like a hidden wound:
If I know more about miasma… maybe I'll know how long someone can last without a filter.
I kept my face blank.
I kept my mouth shut.
And I followed the others out of the classroom.
***
Outside, the sky was bright in the way that felt unfair.
Azuris at two in the afternoon looked almost gentle. Sunlight on stone. Children running between stalls. The smell of bread stronger than the smell of blood.
We walked in a loose cluster.
Lina took the lead without being asked, narrating the world like she was guiding us through a museum of possible monsters.
"Okay," she said, hands flapping as she talked. "So. Slimes are not former animals. I think. I mean, how would that even work? A former… puddle?"
Arlo's lips thinned. "Slimes are debated."
"Everything is debated to you," Lina shot back.
Arlo ignored that with professional skill. "But yes, many monsters appear to originate from corrupted fauna."
Mya stayed close to my side, quiet and attentive, occasionally nodding as if the conversation was a gentle current she could float in without speaking.
I kept pace behind Lina and Arlo, listening more than talking.
It felt… strange.
Normal.
Like I was part of something simple.
Lina suddenly turned, walking backward so she could face us. "Trey, what monster do you think is the cutest?"
I stared. "The… what?"
"The cutest," Lina repeated, earnest. "If you had to pick."
"That's not—" Arlo started, but Lina pointed at him.
"Not you," she said. "You'll answer with 'none.'"
Arlo opened his mouth again, offended.
Mya's lips twitched like she was trying not to smile.
I thought, for a moment, of the creatures Ash had described—the ones outside the wall, the ones that didn't care you were small.
Then I thought of nothing. I chose nothing.
"I don't know," I said.
Lina pouted. "Boring."
Then she leaned in dramatically. "But I bet you'd say something like 'a wolf,' because you're the serious type."
I frowned. "I'm not—"
"You are," Lina said, confident like she was naming the sky blue.
Arlo cleared his throat with the air of someone trying to return us to "productive conversation."
"So," he said, and when he spoke, Lina stopped talking—mostly because she was curious what he'd say. "If you're actually interested in miasma, you should understand that it's not only about monsters. It affects environments. Materials. Sometimes people."
The last word made my skin prickle.
I made my voice casual. "People?"
Arlo nodded. "Exposure over time can have effects. Some minor. Some… not."
Lina shuddered happily. "Ooooh. Spooky."
Mya hugged her bag tighter. "Is it… like sickness?"
Arlo hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. "In some ways. But it's also… different."
I could feel my question rising again—filters, masks, how long, what happens when—
I swallowed it.
Instead I asked something safer, something that still served my real need.
"So… do scholars know where it comes from?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the street ahead like I didn't care.
Arlo's mouth twisted. "Some claim it is emitted by the Great Abyss. Others claim it's a byproduct of whatever is inside. Others claim it predates the dungeon."
Lina made a delighted noise. "Predates! Like it was here first!"
"That's speculation," Arlo said immediately.
"Speculation is fun," Lina argued.
"It's useless," Arlo countered.
Mya lifted a hand timidly between them. "Maybe… it can be both? Like… we don't know yet."
Lina beamed at her. "Mya is wise."
Arlo sighed. "She is… trying."
Mya shrank a little at the tone, then relaxed when Arlo's face softened, like he realized he'd sounded too sharp.
We walked a little farther before Lina's curiosity shifted targets again.
"Arlo," she said, sing-song, "your family is really scholars?"
Arlo nodded, pride returning. "Yes."
"Like… professors?" Lina pressed.
"Professors," Arlo confirmed.
Mya's eyes widened slightly. "That's… amazing."
Arlo's cheeks pinked faintly at the compliment.
Then Lina did what Lina always did: found a bigger question and threw herself at it.
"From where?" she asked. "Like… did you always live in Azuris?"
Arlo hesitated just long enough to make the answer interesting.
"My family is from Bazlance," he said.
I blinked without meaning to.
"Bazlance?" I repeated. "Not Seagate?"
Arlo looked at me like I'd just asked why the sky wasn't purple.
"Bazlance has an academy too," he said.
Lina's eyes widened. "Another academy?"
Arlo nodded. "Bazlance is west of Avalonia and has direct road access to the Great Abyss."
The words hit something inside me.
Direct access.
A city built with the dungeon on its doorstep.
My questions sharpened again—so they would know more, they would have news faster, they would—
I forced myself to keep it light.
"So your family… goes to the Abyss?" I asked.
Arlo's expression shifted. Less proud. More careful.
"We used to be at Seagate," he admitted. "Before."
Mya tilted her head. "Before?"
Arlo nodded once, eyes forward now. "We were hired."
"Hired?" Lina repeated, delighted by drama.
Arlo's voice lowered slightly, like he was saying a name you didn't throw around in the street.
"By the Vonel family."
The world didn't change.
The sun didn't dim.
The street didn't go quiet.
But inside me, something tightened like a rope pulled suddenly taut.
I kept walking. I kept my face smooth. I kept my hands from clenching.
Vonel.
Always Vonel.
Lina didn't notice my shift—she was too busy reacting to the idea of nobles paying scholars like they were buying fancy furniture.
"The Vonels hired your family?" she gasped. "That's huge!"
Mya went quiet, eyes flicking briefly to me—quick, worried, then away again.
Arlo nodded stiffly. "Yes. To assist with their explorations."
I kept my voice even. "Why are they so obsessed with the dungeon?"
Arlo frowned. "I don't know."
Lina leaned forward. "But you must know something."
Arlo's brows pinched. He looked like he hated admitting ignorance, but he wasn't going to lie just to sound smart.
"I… only know what my family has been working on," he said slowly. "We were trying to decipher Altes scripture at the shrine."
My ribs tightened.
Not from pain.
From recognition.
Altes.
Lina snapped her fingers. "See? That's totally connected."
Arlo shot her a look. "That is not proof."
"But it's cool," Lina insisted. "Altes is cool."
Mya spoke carefully, shy voice threading between them. "Altes… like… Altes Record?"
Lina's eyes lit up like lanterns. "Yes!"
Arlo blinked. "What?"
Lina looked at him like he'd just admitted he didn't know what bread was. "Altes Record! The—"
Mya nodded, still shy but gaining confidence because it was a story, not a fight. "My dad used to tell me bedtime stories about it."
Lina slapped her hands together. "Exactly! The lost record! The ancient miracle! The thing that proves—"
"It's a fairy tale," Arlo said immediately.
Mya flinched slightly, then nodded. "It is… just a story."
Arlo shrugged, rational again. "Correct."
Lina made an offended noise. "You two are no fun."
Arlo lifted his chin. "Reality is not obligated to be fun."
Lina leaned closer, grinning. "Then why are you alive?"
Arlo's face reddened. "That is not—"
They started bantering in overlapping bursts—Lina insisting imagination mattered, Arlo insisting facts mattered, Mya trying to calm them with soft "maybe" and "please," all while we walked through bright streets like this was normal.
And somehow…
I found myself smiling.
Not because the world was suddenly okay.
But because for a few minutes, my thoughts weren't only a dark tunnel leading down.
For a few minutes, I was just a kid walking behind other kids.
A kid who had friends.
A kid who wasn't alone.
I kept my smile small, private.
I kept my real questions buried.
And I followed them toward Arlo's home.