Scotch's hut creaked with every gust of wind.
Marga leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Volow tighten his gloves. Suki sat close to him, tail brushing his leg again and again like she was counting the seconds.
"I'll go alone," Volow said. "It's faster. And quieter."
Marga didn't like it. It showed on her face.
"You're saying that like it won't turn ugly."
Volow gave a small smile.
Suki whined softly and pressed her head against his knee.
Volow knelt and rested his forehead against hers.
"Stay here with them," he whispered. "Keep them safe, okay?"
Suki's ears drooped. She didn't move.
"I'll be back," he added, more firmly this time.
After a long second, she sat. Still watching him. Still listening.
Marga sighed. "If you don't come back quickly, I will kill this old geezer."
Volow stood. "Fair."
Sweat started running down from scotchs face after hearing marga.
Then Volow stepped away from the hut and disappeared down the cliff path, swallowed by fog and stone.
The cave was far.
That made it worse.
It sat in the forest near Skytop, hidden where the cliff bent inward like a scar. Old paths led to it—but none looked used anymore.
Suki would've hated this place.
Volow could feel it before he saw it.
Veil pressure. Thick. Controlled.
He crouched near the entrance and listened.
Footsteps. Soft. Trained.
Masked men.
Not the same ones he dropped in Illenwood—but close enough. Similar masks. Similar silence.
Above-world soldiers.
They guarded the cave like it mattered.
Volow exhaled once and stepped out.
The first guard noticed too late.
Volow closed the distance fast, slammed his shoulder into the man's chest, and drove him into the cave wall. Stone cracked. The body dropped.
Two more reacted instantly. Veil flared around their arms—longer constructs this time.
Sharper.
Volow didn't rush.
He let one strike pass, stepped inside the guard's space, and hit him clean in the ribs.
Veil burst outward. The guard folded.
The third tried to pull back.
Volow didn't let him.
"Breaker Punch."
The Veil hit like a hammer. The mask split. The man flew back and didn't get up.
More came.
Four this time.
They moved together.
Volow smiled faintly.
"Good."
The fight was rough—but clean.
No wasted motion. No shouting.
When it ended, the cave was quiet again.
Volow stepped inside.
The tree was alive.
That was the first thing he understood.
It grew from the stone itself, roots twisting through rock like veins. Its bark glowed faintly, not with light—but with presence.
Words were carved into the stem.
Old words.
Not Veil-script. Not Underworld. Not Above.
Something else.
Volow stared.
"…I can't read this," he muttered.
He pulled out the paper and charcoal Scotch gave him and carefully pressed it against the bark.
The moment the charcoal touched—
The Veil shifted.
The tree pulsed once.
Volow froze.
Nothing attacked. Nothing moved.
But for half a second, he felt like something was looking back.
He finished the print quickly and stepped away.
The cave felt heavier now.
Like it didn't want him leaving.
When Volow climbed back toward the hut, the fight had already started.
Marga stood near the edge, Veil sharp around her arms. Masked figures surrounded the hut—different masks this time. Older. Heavier.
Suki stood in front of Scotch.
Still.
Focused.
Her ears snapped toward Volow the moment he appeared.
She barked once.
Volow hit the ground running.
The fight was short—but violent.
Volow moved like he was angry now. Not reckless. Just done.
When the last masked body dropped, silence returned.
Then—
Suki launched herself at him.
She jumped, paws hitting his chest, licking his face, tail going wild like she'd been holding it in for hours.
"Alright, alright—" Volow laughed, nearly losing balance. "I'm here."
She refused to move.
Marga watched quietly.
Scotch stared at the paper in Volow's hand like it might explode.
Inside the hut, they spread it out.
The words stared back.
Scotch stared at the print for a long time.
Too long.
His fingers trembled as he carefully rolled the paper and tucked it under his coat.
"…I can't read it like this," he said finally. "Not now. Not here."
Volow frowned. "So you'll figure it out later?"
Scotch nodded once. "Yes. It takes time."
He looked up at Volow then—really looked at him—and bowed his head.
"You did more than I asked," he said quietly. "Thank you."
That caught Volow off guard.
Marga raised an eyebrow. "That's it? After all that?"
Scotch straightened. "No. I made a promise."
He turned and walked toward the back of the hut.
"Follow me."
They exchanged a look, then followed.
Scotch pushed aside a rotten plank near the floor. Beneath it was a metal handle—old, hidden, completely out of place.
He pulled.
The floor opened.
A narrow staircase dropped straight down into darkness.
Marga stared. "You live above a bunker?"
Scotch smirked. "Everyone in Skytop thinks I'm crazy. Keeps them from asking questions."
They went down.
The underground room was small but packed—shelves of scrolls, maps, broken artifacts, sealed boxes. Knowledge hoarded, not displayed.
Scotch placed the print carefully onto an empty shelf, like it was something fragile. Something dangerous.
Then he reached for another scroll.
A map.
He laid it out on the table.
"This," he said, tapping it once, "is what you came for."
Volow leaned in.
"The Mantle," Scotch continued. "The Inner World. Not a myth. Not a story. A layer beneath everything you know."
Marga's eyes narrowed. "And people can go there?"
"Yes," Scotch said. "But very few come back the same."
He looked at Volow's ring.
"And some… were never meant to stay on one side at all."
Volow didn't speak.
Scotch exhaled slowly. "I'll explain the path. The risks. What waits below."
He met Volow's eyes.
"But understand this—once you go down… the world above won't let you stay forgotten."
Outside, Skytop stood quiet.
And far from it—
Someone had noticed Scotch.