Chapter Thirteen: Under the Shadow
The elevator clanged and rattled without pause; every stop spilled a batch of Demons out, and more poured in like a tide.
Claustrophobic, Lilith felt like a pool both draining and filling at once, currents shifting while the volume swelled.
The weight pressed down like deep water, squeezing the Little White Dragon until breath thinned to a thread.
She’d meant to step out on each floor and scout.
Instead, the crush shoved her to the back, and Nidhogg’s grip bit her bones to keep them from being split apart.
The plan drowned in the crowd like ink in a storm.
Honestly, not getting the Little White Dragon flattened already felt like a win; she let the rest go.
“Hah—alive. Still alive.”
The elevator swayed down to the lowest tier, and the last Demons streamed out like fish.
Only Lilith and one squashed Little White Dragon remained, trembling as Nidhogg steadied her through the gap.
Free of the human tide, Lilith gulped air like surfacing from a black river.
The bottom of Bosaklie tasted of coal dust and spent smoke, a bitter haze that still felt like heaven after sweat-stink.
Even in Morris’s sewers, the Little White Dragon had never cursed her keen nose this hard.
Nauseous, she clutched her chest and forced the bile back like pushing a door against wind.
Nidhogg stood close, concern warm as a hand on her back, steady and patient.
When the reek receded like a tide, Lilith drew a long, heavy breath and straightened her spine.
“Alright. Let’s keep moving,” she said, shaking her head like shedding damp feathers.
The streets on the lowest tier of the Eternal City still wore Bosaklie’s signature build—brass bones in a sealed maze.
Yet no one kept them clean; the avenues carried a skin of black coal powder like soot on old armor.
If not for the wrong smell in the air, their shabby faces could’ve fooled Lilith into thinking she was back in Morris.
She wouldn’t mistake it for long, though—the Bosaklie underbelly was almost as crowded as the top streets.
Lilith walked, flanked by streams of Demons, bodies moving like a slow current along a channel.
Their clothes were worn and smudged, the fabric dyed with stubborn gray-black from years in the dust.
They traded words as they walked, voices big and rough, closer to a quarrel than a chat.
Somehow it held together, like ropes pulling from both ends yet never snapping; to Lilith, that felt oddly magical.
The street roared with brawny middle-aged Demon men and even brawnier Demon women, voices yanking curses like banners in a storm.
Lilith gave up trying to speak to Nidhogg; words would drown here.
She fished out the token she’d gotten from her “Mother” in Lamter, cool against her palm like a pebble from a river.
Chin lifted, the Little White Dragon peered through the smoky haze, hunting for a matching mark.
Against chance, she found one—a small alley hid a pattern exactly like her token, etched like a twin.
Thrilled, the Little White Dragon tugged Nidhogg’s sleeve, excitement bright as a spark in ash.
“Look, Nidhogg! Isn’t that what we’re after?” she pointed into the gray fog at the alley’s throat.
Nidhogg narrowed his eyes, straining like reading a sign through smoke, and checked it against Lilith’s token again and again.
Litt craned in too, big red eyes gleaming with a simple, glassy shine.
“Close enough. Let’s go ask,” Nidhogg said, slipping the token back into Lilith’s hand.
The Black Dragon moved first, taking the two almost-the-same-height kids by the hand, wary as a shepherd in a thieving market.
Lilith felt a flicker of annoyance, but she swallowed it, trailing the Black Dragon’s shadow deeper into the alley.
They halted before a tight-shut door, wood breathing coal dusk like an old lung.
“Something feels off,” the Little White Dragon muttered, face dark as ink.
They were at the alley’s deepest pocket; a wooden plaque jutted from the door, carved with the exact same pattern as her token.
A string of bulbs wrapped it, little kerosene lights glowing an unsettling, sugary pink, like wilted neon blossoms.
The whole door looked like the front of a place people don’t describe in polite company.
“I really want to ask what kind of mind birthed this abstract disaster,” Lilith sighed, exasperation fluttering like a fan.
Still, she stepped up obediently and knocked, knuckles tapping a soft rhythm on worn wood.
“Please, come in,” a low voice rolled from inside, smooth as smoke.
Lilith had expected a demand for a token or a passphrase; instead, the door offered itself like an open palm.
Saving trouble felt good; she pushed the door and led Nidhogg and Litt inside.
Bang—the moment Litt hopped through the frame, the once-open door swung heavy and slammed shut like a dropped shield.
Litt flinched, eyes wide; Lilith didn’t.
Warm yellow light pooled through the room, a hearth-glow against the gray world outside.
Just crossing the threshold, she felt heat stroke her skin, comfort like a blanket.
The place seemed to be a bar; the tables were busy, cups glinting like small moons.
Yet it wasn’t the bar Lilith knew—despite the crowd, noise stayed hushed.
Now and then, clusters leaned in to whisper, voices soft as leaves, a library mood under tavern light.
“Hello,” Lilith said, threading past a few patrons.
She was small; she had to push up hard on her toes to wrestle herself onto a stool, like scaling a low wall.
The bartender, who’d been polishing glasses, drifted over with a nod. “What’ll it be?”
“You serve alcohol to minors here?” Lilith tapped her own young face, which, like it or not, screamed barely over ten.
“This is the lowest level of Bosaklie,” the barkeep said, smile stretching to show big, not-quite-clean yellow teeth like old corn.
“Even if you were newborn, we’d sell to you.”
“Alright. Order a drink, my dear guest.”
He set down a glass, its rim flashing like a coin. “And then, let’s discuss why you have that token.”
