Chapter 35 – City Beneath the Stone
The desert ended with shadow.
A wall of black stone rose from the dunes like the back of a god turned to face the sun. The slab stretched for miles, its surface scarred by ancient carvings and veins of molten glass that pulsed with faint gold light. Beneath its shade sprawled a city — vast, alive, and humming with the weight of ten thousand souls.
John stopped at the ridge and stared.
The air was cooler here, heavy with dust, metal, and incense. Towers built of sandstone and obsidian curved upward into the hollow beneath the stone roof, their windows glowing with floating sigil-lights. Bridges of rope and steel connected layers of streets suspended between cliff walls. Below, a thousand voices rose in overlapping chorus — shouts of merchants, clatter of carts, laughter that sounded too sharp to be joy.
Tamara's breath caught. "The City of Shade."
Blake let out a low whistle. "Big enough to get lost and rich in the same day."
Ember's fur glimmered in the faint sun that slipped through the cracks above. John didn't speak. His gaze swept the labyrinth below — a map of opportunity and threat.
They descended the ridge and joined the endless stream of travelers. Caravans drawn by spirit-beasts rumbled toward the colossal gates cut into the stone. Traders shouted in half a dozen tongues, while mercenaries with rune-etched weapons loitered near the walls, eyes scanning for coin or trouble.
Guards in black-and-gold armor inspected each group. They wore the sigil of a coin circled by fire — the mark of the Merchant Association.
When it was their turn, John handed over a serpent core. The guard tested its glow, nodded once, and waved them through.
"Payment instead of questions," Blake muttered. "I like this place already."
Inside, the world changed.
The City Unveiled
The first breath tasted of spice and smoke.
Glowing banners hung across the streets, printed with shifting runes. Stalls crowded every corner — selling sand fruit, monster scales, and glass vials filled with trapped light. Spirit-lamps burned blue, their fire steady despite the wind. Overhead, the massive ceiling reflected the city's glow back down like a false sky.
John slowed his steps, absorbing it all.
This was no ruin, no wasteland.
It was civilization, feral and beautiful.
They reached the main plaza where three colossal buildings dominated the skyline.
The Merchant Association towered to the left — a fortress of gilded stone with balconies overflowing with wares. The air smelled of perfume and molten metal. Runes flickered across an archway bearing the words "All value finds its price." Crowds of traders haggled beneath, guarded by mercenaries in gleaming armor.
Across from it stood the Alchemist Association, built directly into the wall of the stone above. Pipes and glass tubes pulsed with colored vapor. Apprentices darted between furnaces, robes singed and hands stained with residue. The building itself seemed alive — breathing out warm chemical air and drawing in the cold.
To the south, a roar of voices thundered from a ringed coliseum — the Mercenary Association. Its banners bore twin blades crossed over a desert sun. Fighters clashed within the arena, the flare of their techniques painting the walls in streaks of light.
Blake's eyes lit up. "Now that looks like home."
Tamara smirked. "Try not to lose money before we even have it."
Alaric's tone deepened, reverent and warning both.
"Three pillars of power, boy. Commerce, craft, and battle. Keep them balanced, or one devours the others."
As they pushed deeper into the city, the streets shifted.
The air grew thick with perfume and music.
Spirit-lamps turned crimson. Dancers moved in open courtyards, their veils glittering with starlight dust. Laughter and whispers drifted from balconies carved into the rock. Men in fine robes bartered over more than goods, while others gambled on spirit-beast fights glowing in caged arenas.
Blake slowed, eyes flicking from one doorway to the next. "I could get used to this district."
Tamara didn't even look at him. "You'd be broke before you left the first street."
John's gaze lingered briefly — not on the dancers, but on the silent figures in the shadows, watching the crowd. Hidden guards, coin exchangers, men with rings on every finger. Every smile here had a price.
"Power wears perfume here," Alaric whispered. "But it still smells of blood."
They found a place near the central canal — a low, wide building with a polished black sign that read The Shaded Ember. Cool air drifted from within, scented with clean oil and faint incense.
The innkeeper, a tall beast-kin woman with fur like sand-silver and eyes like gold, greeted them with an elegant bow.
"Travelers from the dunes," she said, voice smooth as smoke. "You look half-dead and over-charged by the sun. I can fix both."
John placed a serpent core on the counter. "Three rooms."
Her smile widened. "And supper?"
He nodded once.
They climbed the narrow stairs, each step echoing in the cool stone. Their rooms opened onto a balcony that overlooked the lower streets, where the light from the canal rippled like living gold.
Later that night, the city quieted to a low murmur.
Tamara sat cross-legged by the window, one of the Light Cactus leaves glowing faintly in her palm. Frost mist circled her shoulders, but the golden aura from the leaf balanced it with warmth. She drew a slow breath, guiding the two energies together — cold and light, merging into harmony.
The room filled with soft luminescence. Ice crystals formed along her arms, shimmering like feathers. Then, with a sound like a heartbeat breaking, the energy burst inward. Her aura condensed, brighter, sharper.
Her eyes opened — pale blue, burning.
E-Rank. First Step.
Across the hall, Blake's breakthrough was louder.
Light exploded from beneath his door. The walls trembled as he laughed through the pain, the energy running wild through his veins. His daggers floated briefly beside him, trembling with resonance before clattering to the floor.
When silence returned, his aura felt heavier, edged with the thrill of speed. He grinned, exhausted and alive. "Finally."
John sensed both auras from his own room and let out a slow breath.
"They'll need that strength soon," he muttered.
"They will," Alaric replied. "But so will you."
John's room was dim, lit only by a small blue flame hovering in a glass bowl.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, his storage ring open before him.
Inside, the Light Cactus flower glowed softly, pulsing like a sleeping star. Two serpent cores rested beside it, along with vials of half-finished potions — his crude alchemist's work.
"Now begins the real training," Alaric said. "You stand on the threshold of mastery. But talent without tools is just arrogance."
John nodded. "I'll need supplies. A cauldron. Ink. Potion ingredients."
"And coin."
He smiled faintly. "Hence the flower."
"Sell it at the Merchant Association," Alaric instructed. "Not to the stalls. To the appraisers inside the Hall of Gold. Their greed ensures the best price."
"Use half the proceeds to buy materials and a Light-bound cauldron. The rest — formation crystals and spirit wards. You'll need a room shielded from prying eyes."
John leaned back, imagining it:
A small workshop carved into stone, lined with shelves, potions glowing faintly under Ember's watch. The thought steadied him.
"I'll also teach you the Ecliptic Purification," Alaric continued. "You'll refine with your heart's light instead of flame. Dangerous — but faster."
John's eyes flickered gold. "Danger's the only thing that keeps me awake."
The spirit chuckled — a deep, rare sound.
"Spoken like a cultivator."
The sounds of the city swelled again — drunken songs, the clang of duels in the mercenary pits, the soft hum of airships above the cliffs. Beyond the balcony, crimson lanterns drifted on the canal, their reflections painting the stone ceiling in waves of blood-colored light.
John stepped out, arms folded. Ember lay nearby, breathing slow and steady.
From here, he could see the towers of the three Associations rising like rival gods against the dark.
"Master," he murmured. "This city feels alive."
"It is," Alaric replied. "Alive, hungry, and watching. Every cultivator here dreams of rising higher. Every one of them would cut you down for a chance to climb."
John's gaze stayed on the lights. "Then I'll climb faster."
"Good." The voice softened, almost proud. "But remember, boy — in this city, Light draws both reverence and envy. The brighter you burn, the darker the shadows that follow."
John's lips curved faintly. "Let them come."
Inside, Tamara's frost aura pulsed quietly through the wall.
Blake snored like a dying beast.
And in John's hand, the Light Cactus flower glowed softly within its glass vial.
The desert had tested them.
The city would change them.
He looked out once more at the sprawling labyrinth below — streets of light, towers of smoke, and whispers of fortune.
Tomorrow, he would enter the Merchant Association.
Tomorrow, the hunt for power would begin again.
"Sleep, boy," Alaric murmured. "You'll need your strength."
John exhaled, eyes closing, hand resting over the pulsing warmth in his chest.
The city outside kept breathing, restless and bright — a living thing that promised salvation, and devoured the unprepared.