Fourteen coppers. It wasn’t a lot, by any means. In terms of metal, a bit less than a third of a pound. Or around a hundred and fifty grams, if you were using units from that other place across the ocean.

In terms of money, well, it was fourteen coppers. Technically fourteen coppers and three silver if you counted the copper marks—patterned rods which could hold up to five coins together in a roll. But you only traded marks if you had enough to spare or were desperate. And Anthony definitely didn’t have enough to spare.

The [Necromancer]’s brows drew together as he muttered the math.

“Twenty times three, twenty times three. Sixty copper. Add fourteen… that’s seventy-four.”

Seventy-four coppers. That’s how many he had in total, if he was willing to trade the marks. Definitely better than fourteen, but… it also wasn’t a lot. Anthony debated going back and rummaging through his room to find more money, but he wasn’t sure if that’d add up to much. Last time there were only a handful of spare coppers. But, who knows, maybe some marks rolled under his bed.

Or he could stop dreaming. Anthony sighed. They were already in the mercantile district, surrounded by vendors and people doing a morning run of the market. It was loud, not as much as a market on the surface would be, but the noise made it hard to think. He needed something to do before trouble found its way over. Most people gave him and the revenant a wide berth, but linger too long and something was bound to happen.

Ah, whatever. Let’s go get you a disguise.

It was hard to make out expressions in undead, but Anthony was familiar enough with them to tell that the revenant was slightly frowning. It turned to him stiffly.

Why do I need a disguise?

Well, people are usually bothered by undead. Because… uh, undead are dead people. And dead people are pretty uncomfortable for everyone.

I make people uncomfortable because I’m undead?

Anthony decided to be frank.

Yes. When people think of undead, they usually think of monsters. Bad things.

The revenant’s frown deepened.

People think I’m a monster?

Anthony sighed, eyes scanning storefront signs.

Yeah. Sorry, that’s how it is. Undead are classified as monsters through and through. People are used to that and their mindset won’t change.

The revenant’s face cleared.

This is a social issue. I see.

Anthony huffed in irritance. It was a bit more complicated than that, but props to the revenant if it wanted to stay positive. And also—he couldn’t find a store for makeup. Strange how rare those were underground. Maybe someone else would know.

“Hey—uh, hello, do you know where a store that sells makeup would be?”

Anthony called out to a random person who happened to pass by them. The man—a [Miner] like most people who worked in Drastum, judging by the heavy, rock-dust stained clothing—turned at the words and narrowed his eyes upon seeing the revenant.

“Oh, hells. Not one of you. I’ve had enough of a day already.”

He spat to the ground and walked away. Anthony watched him leave with mild exasperation and glanced at the revenant.

That’s how it is.

It turned away, looking at the hubbub of the market. Anthony wryly started searching for someone else to ask. The revenant needed to learn the hard truth of its position, fast, before they got to the surface. Otherwise it wouldn’t last a day topside. That sort of ignorance to how people worked would only draw in predators.

And speaking of predators, one was making his way over now.

A guardsman. One of the soldiers assigned to the walls, a member of the force responsible for repelling underground monsters from Drastum. And one of the types of people Anthony would rather avoid.

He scanned the area around them discreetly, noting a side street beside them—probably a dead end, by the number of crates blocking his view near the back—and a large group of people walking down the opposite side of the street. The chances of making a clean break weren’t great.

Anthony decided to go for the street. He’d rather hide, as undignified as it was, than have to deal with people. Necromancers mingled poorly.

Giving a quick mental order to the revenant, Anthony sidled off the main path through a gap in the people, taking the corner of a building as cover from the guardsman. The revenant followed and they both casually walked down the side street. The moment they reached several wooden barrels, Anthony ducked down, using their bulk to hide them from the main street.

Imitating him, the revenant lowered itself next to Anthony. It was a bit of squeeze, but neither minded.

Are we hiding?

The revenant’s eyes flicked to the side. Anthony peeked through a small gap between two barrels, not seeing anyone in the narrow slice of the main street visible from their position.

We’re, um, avoiding attention.

The revenant didn’t respond and Anthony felt slightly irritated. It was literally the only reason he was playing hide-and-seek from guardsmen. Not that undead weren’t allowed—[Necromancers] were permitted a small retinue within the city—but because it painted a big target on his back for anyone to harass.

True necromancers, established members of the Necronum, used proxies for public business. Their unofficial followers, piddling amateurs and death magic enthusiasts who only existed thanks to Drastum’s tolerance of necromancy, didn’t have that luxury. It was them that painted the face of necromancy in the city, and for most people, weak mages trying out unsavoury magic was what they saw.

And what Anthony would appear as. Even though he was official Necronum, nobody on the street would really tell him apart from a random low-level [Dark Apprentice]. And that was a problem—the bolder citygoers and workers would go out of their way to bully necromancers they saw, taking out the stress and fear of living underground amidst monsters and undead on easy targets.

Targets who couldn’t cast their magic within the city, under threat of execution.

Hence avoiding guardsmen and the like. He’d had… unpleasant interactions before. Anthony reflexively held his breath as he saw the guardsman appear in the entrance of the side street, giving the miscellaneous containers stacked amongst the buildings on a cursory glance before continuing onwards. Anthony waited a few heartbeats longer in case he doubled back, but nobody besides a pair of workers passed through the area.

He stood up, poking the revenant as it tried to copy him. Stay down and wait here. I’ll be back.

It nodded and Anthony moved around the barrels. He caught himself bending over suspiciously and relaxed into a casual stroll. Just a random person in a side street, yep. He reached the edge of the two buildings on either side and peeked out on the left. The telltale grey-orange guard outfit was rapidly disappearing into the crowd. Right side was also clear.

It’s safe. Come out.

The revenant walked up and stopped behind him. Anthony spared the crates behind them a glance and moved into the main street. A few people gave him suspicious looks, especially after seeing the undead emerge, but minded their own business. Nice.

Seeing that they were free to go, Anthony decided to delve further into the market. There had to be a cosmetics shop somewhere here, and if he couldn’t find one, he’d just get someone else to tell him. Maybe if he left the revenant behind, people would be more approachable.

But then… if he left the revenant behind, it’d probably get reported to the guard and be “disposed of” like all unattended undead. Which was decidedly not why he was out here.

If only the revenant had a disguise…

Anthony sighed.

Stay behind me. We’ll keep looking.

They crossed the street to the right side and continued down the market, which opened up into a plaza. Anthony kept an eye out for people to ask, but everyone was sticking in groups around stalls and tended to avoid him after seeing the ghostly-pale figure to his side. There were enough people that someone was always passing by, although nobody seemed open for a question.

“Excuse me, do you know where a cosmetics shop is —”

“‘Sorry! Need to get going.”

“Hello, is there a— ”

“...”

Anthony frowned as he was either brushed off or completely ignored. The revenant, oblivious to his attempts at social interaction, was still watching the liveliness of people bartering for morning goods. The necromancer spun in a circle, squinting hard at all of the signs arrayed around the plaza. Still nothing close to a cosmetician. There were stands for food, leatherworkers, toolmakers—he might visit that last one later for a staff or something—

“Watch it!”

He twisted as someone barged by him. Anthony glared at their retreating figure and rubbed his arm. The revenant immediately spun around, internal miasma churning. Anthony patted his coin purse—yep, the three straps were unclasped, likely due to a thieving-related ability—and cursed.

Damn. I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t worry about me. Someone stole my money. Let’s go.

Not bothering to wait for an answer from the undead, he took off in pursuit of the thief. Floundering, the revenant followed from behind, struggling to weave through the crowd.

Already far ahead and vanishing, Anthony was rapidly covering ground with [Fleetfoot]. The trait was something he’d picked up from trips into the dungeon—where speed let you pass by danger instead of needing to bash it over the head. It didn’t necessarily make you run faster, but it lightened your steps a bit, helped with body positioning and awareness—

Okay, maybe it did make you run faster. But even with the trait active, Anthony was losing the chase. The thief was expertly navigating through crushes of people, hurrying along like someone intent on getting done with shopping, but moving far too fast. Definitely abilities, Anthony thought bitterly. He might’ve had a chance if he reacted faster, but the thief got a head start and was experienced. There was no way he could catch up with someone specialized in getting away.

Anthony slowed down after getting caught up by an arguing group. He stepped around them and looked ahead—the thief was gone. Not gone gone, just lost in the crowd. Anthony sighed angrily, breathing hard, and felt into his purse. Two marks were missing, along with all the coppers on them. He kept walking forwards, scanning the crowd in vain. There really wasn’t any point; you’d never pick out the right person. Anthony was about to turn around and find the revenant when a voice shouted out.

“Stop! You there—let me see your hands!”

It was a guardsman. The guardsman he was avoiding earlier, Anthony realized. The grey-and-orange clad figure was accosting somebody.

“Wha—ah, why, um, guardsman? I’m just trying to get my shopping done!”

Walking by slowly and lowering his head, Anthony watched the encounter. The guardsman put a hand on his truncheon and growled.

“Hands. Now.”

The person timidly raised his hands. With a quick motion, the guardsman grabbed onto his tunic and hauled him closer.

“That’s what I thought. A damned thief, aren’t you—don’t think I can’t see. [Detect Guilt].”

“I’m not a thief—let go! This isn’t right!”

Anthony raised his head and looked closer. The figure did look familiar. Too familiar. The encounter just moments ago was already fading from his memory, but he was pretty sure that that was the thief.

But the question was—even if that was, how was he supposed to get his money back? As he neared, the guardsman was already bringing out a pair of cuffs.

“Complain all you want. You’re coming with me. I’ve got some questions at the watchhouse.”

The unfortunate thief struggled, but the guardsman wasn’t letting go. Suddenly—Anthony couldn’t see clearly—he twisted and dropped to the ground, somehow released. Frantically scrabbling to his feet, the man took off.

Only to run into Anthony after taking five steps. He looked up, angry, before taking a fist to the face. Anthony shook his hand and winced.

“Ow.”

Seeing the downed criminal, the guardsman quickly pounced and cuffed him. He righted himself, keeping a foot on the thief’s back, and looked up at Anthony.

“Damn [Thieves] and their escape tricks. Thanks for the help.”

Anthony nodded, hesitating. The revenant wasn’t here yet. He had a chance.

“No problem. He stole my money earlier.”

The guardsman looked down at the thief, who was defeatedly resting his face on the ground.

“That true?”

“...”

The guardsman leaned closer.

“Speak up.”

Lightning fast, the thief dislodged his foot and rolled over. The guardsman easily dodged the flailing attempt at a kick and booted him in the side. Curling up, the thief groaned.

“Ah—fuck. You piece of —”

The guardsman booted him again.

“Fuck, ow, fine. Fine! Ow—stop kicking me!”

“You steal his money?”

“Maybe—wait, wait, don’t kick me—I don’t know! He’s just another face. I don’t know, I swear.”

Anthony exhaled. He was tempted to join the guard in on kicking him. The guard crouched down and rummaged through the thief’s clothes, keeping a hand on his truncheon. After a bit of fumbling around in the man’s clothes, he pulled out a ragged money pouch. Inside was a pile of random coins; mostly copper spares, but Anthony spied some marks and even the glint of a silver coin.

The guardsman grinned at the money. He glanced at the crowd around them, who were mostly going on their way and giving them a small berth. Shoving a handful of currency into Anthony’s hand, he tucked the pouch into his uniform.

“That should do, yeah?”

Anthony looked down. Four marks with all the coins on them and some spares.

“Yep. I, uh, appreciate it. Thanks.”

“No problem. You helped me out there. Gotta get this lout back to the watchhouse.”

Grunting, the guard hauled the thief to his feet and began marching away. Anthony fingered the metal shapes he was holding and wondered what had just happened.

The revenant caught up with him a few moments later as he was sticking the copper into his purse.

Mast—Anthony, have you retrieved the money?

Yeah.

The revenant nodded, internal miasma calming down. Anthony secured the straps tightly before turning the purse around so it was facing into his body. A bit more funding for makeup, then.

If only he could find a place.

— -

“There’s a [Cosmetitian] a few streets down yonder. Fingle’s Pastes. He’s good with makeup. What’s got a [Necromancer] like you interested?”

After much haranguing of passersby, someone finally, finally would talk to him. A woman going about with a huge charcoal bag had stopped to give him directions. Anthony gestured at the revenant.

“It—he—needs a better face.”

The woman glanced at it and laughed.

“Can’t argue with that. You [Necromancers] always were an odd bunch.”

“Yeah. Thanks, by the way.”

She waved a hand and hauled the bag back up, walking away. “Don’t worry about it.”

Anthony blinked at her back. What an odd lady. But anyways, he had a place. Fingle’s Pastes.

They’d better be cheap.

— -

“Hello, welcome to Fingle’s Pastes! I’m Simon Fingle—[Cosmetition] and [Herbalist] at your service. How can I help you, ah, young man?”

The shopkeeper greeted Anthony from behind a wide counter when he pushed open the door. The young man in question glanced around the shop, taking in the small shelves of various ointments and lack of customers. Not quite a thriving business, but you couldn’t expect that of many stores in an underground mining pseudo-settlement.

Anthony gestured at the revenant. “If it’s not too much of a bother, I want a full makeover for it—him.”

The shopkeeper—Simon—paled slightly when he realized the tall, silent figure was an undead, but kept the smile. Hopefully he’d dealt with necromancers before.

“Er—ah, yes, of course. I assume you want a more… alive look?”

“Yep. Please.”

The shopkeeper switched into professional mode, realizing that he was getting a rare customer. He swept up from the counter to the revenant, peering at its face and muttering some observations. The [Cosmetition] looked at a few more angles and turned to Anthony.

“Are you looking for just makeup, or with spells? I have a few on hand, all temporary enhancements and illusions. They’ll cost extra, of course, but the effect would be much more genuine.”

“I want full facial makeup, with something I can use to apply later, if that’s possible. No spells. Er, and—my budget’s limited, so if you could give me an estimate…”

“Yes, yes, I’d be happy to. An application for your… friend would be around five silver, and a kit to brush it up later yourself would be six.”

Anthony blinked. That… wasn’t cheap. He hastily glanced at his money pouch. From what he last saw, he had five loaded copper marks, plus six spare. In total, about one hundred and thirty-one coppers’ worth, between six and seven silver.

He sighed and took out four marks.

“Just the application, please.”

Simon accepted the money and ducked behind the counter. He emerged with a case and opened it to reveal brushes, a few ceramic pots, and… other things. Anthony couldn’t tell what the floofy sphere and thin flesh-toned shapes were, but they probably were important.

Dragging out a stool, Simon set it in a small space next to the counter and then set up a flat oval piece of metal. A mirror—Anthony realized. He looked away. The [Cosmetition] gestured for the revenant to sit down, hesitating when the undead didn’t move.

“Oh. Uh, go sit down and listen to the [Cosmetition].”

Belatedly, Anthony directed the revenant to the stool, having been lost in thought. Simon directed his attention to the revenant, who sat down on the stool, awaiting instructions.

“Ah. Look straight at me and don’t turn your head.”

He pulled out a few tools from the case and began to work. Anthony moved over and watched the two.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how long will this take?”

The [Cosmetition] delicately selected one of the pots, scrunching up his face at the revenant.

“About half an hour. You’re free to watch, or leave and come back later. And you—look straight, I said. Don’t turn your head.”

Anthony decided the process was vaguely interesting, but not enough to spend thirty minutes standing and watching. He glanced in the mirror again, seeing curly blond hair and a pensive, then disappointed expression on the wro—

He closed his eyes for a second and sighed, clearing his head as he turned around to leave the shop.

Time to get a new glaive. Well—not a glaive. Maybe a staff?

…also no. He thirty-six coppers’ worth of money. It was enough for a knife, maybe. How much was a knife?

It probably didn’t matter. Anthony figured that he’d better just go and look at some stalls. At least he wouldn’t have the revenant following him around everywhere. He started going down the main street, merging with the throngs of market-goers who had thinned somewhat as the morning drew on.

“High quality rock-worm leather cases and bottles! Locally made, great prices!”

“Discounts on repair work for tools—put in an order fast!”

“Stock up on headache tonics and blood cleansers, a flare’s coming soon!”

The shopkeepers and vendors were still hawking their wares loudly. Anthony idly looked around, tapping his money pouch. They were just a distraction as long as he didn’t have enough to spend on them. There was a flare coming in, what, three days? That’s what Grendon had said. He just had to take care of what little business he had while he could. A disguise for the revenant, packing up, and… nothing else, really.

Anthony stopped when he reached the plaza. There really wasn’t a point in going any further. But what was he to do? He… could go back to his room and clean up early. Pfft

As if. Anthony turned around, thoughtful, and began to walk again. Going to the Necronum facilities? No point. Visiting Grendon? No, he’d do that tomorrow morning. What about—going to the gate sector?

Anthony perked up. Now that was a good idea. He’d get to check how soon the incoming flare would come and maybe even send a message to his dad and sister if the connection was strong enough. It was something, at least. Easy and productive. If only everything else in life could be that way.

Path set, he began walking the narrow streets. The gate sector was situated off the North side of the city, away from most of the mines to minimize interference from the massive teleporter arrays on areas of mana crystal formation. And—rumor said—to minimize damage to the city hub should the arrays ever suffer catastrophic failure.

Anthony wasn’t quite sure if he believed that; out of the hundreds of flares since Drastum’s inception, the arrays had never became unstable, and never should—mostly evidenced by the fact that there was still a city. There had been a few botched teleportations, such as the story of that company of soldiers who ended up miles away in a deserted monsterfolk camp, or the strange disappearances of random shipments, but the gate sector had always been safe.

His musings about the dangers of teleportation were cut short when he actually reached the sector. Immediately, he noticed that there was much more activity than usual. Of course, with a flare coming up, that was to be expected—but there were a lot of soldiers running around. Anthony had to make way for wagon trains more than once before reaching an outer checkpoint.

The gate sector was arranged in a rough circle, with hubs, administration buildings, and walls surrounding the teleportation arrays in the middle. One had to get past a few checkpoints to access even the minor messaging hubs—security wasn’t light—and you would be watched everywhere inside.

It was familiar enough to Anthony; he’d used the gate between Drastum and Kriloris—the closest city on the surface—twice a year since he was fifteen to train with the underground Necronum branch. Protocol here might as well be muscle memory. He navigated through a checkpoint, presenting a tattoo on his arm to be noted down by an official, and went for a messaging hub.

Hi Dad, Sis

Assignment done. Be home soon. I’m fine, hope you two are too.

A.

Anthony finished writing and slid the small piece of paper across a counter to a seated [Scribe]. Short and to the point, revealing nothing about Drastum. Messages past a certain length got charged by the letter and Anthony definitely couldn’t afford that. Besides, it was just a quick heads-up. He’d get to talk to Alicia and his dad in just a few days.

“All right. Address?”

The scribe had written out the message at the bottom of a neatly ordered sheet. She looked up, quill posed.

“The Crishaws. Third Circle, West. And, um, unrelated, but do you know when the flare’s going to be?”

The scribe turned back to the sheet. Anthony couldn’t help but admire her dark hair.

“It should be in three days. Is Crishaw spelled C-R-I-S-H-A-W?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

“No problem. Arrays are just about to open, your message will send in a few hours.”

Anthony nodded. He slid over four coppers as a tip and walked away, letting the next person in line step up.

As soon as he left the messaging hub, he shook his head ruefully.

“Damn.”

He checked his purse and sighed. One mark and two spare left.

This money thing was wearing at him.

— -

When Anthony returned to Fingle’s Pastes, the revenant was waiting for him.

The [Cosmetition] had done a brilliant job—the undead no longer looked, well, undead. Gone was the remarkably-well-preserved-corpse look, and in its place was a plain human. Not exactly plain, actually; there was something slightly off if you looked too closely at the face. Probably the pitch-black eyes. They were definitely uncomfortable to look at once you realized, but Anthony thought that it was fine. An [Illusion] would fix that.

Simon was organizing his case of pots, sneaking anxious looks at the [Necromancer]’s reaction. He started when Anthony moved over, but relaxed after seeing his smile.

“This is great—better than great. How did you get it to look so realistic?”

Anthony circled around the revenant. He poked at its hands, which also had been treated to look warmer and less deathly pale. Its skin was still cold to the touch, but that couldn’t be helped. Everything else was amazingly alive.

“Ah, my [Cosmetitian] class helped greatly. [Steady Hand] and [Visualization], to name two abilities. I always wanted to be an artist, you see, and a face is just another canvas.”

Anthony nodded.

“It’s really nice. And—how long will the makeup last?”

“Given that he’s, ah, undead and doesn’t sweat or have oily skin, the makeup should keep for around a week with my [Lasting Effect] if kept relatively dry and undisturbed.”

Anthony winced. If he kept doing things at this price, five silvers a week would add up to be a lot. Would it be worth it?

On the surface—definitely. Undead would be hunted down and destroyed without exception, to say the least, and their [Necromancer] masters treated similarly. But still. Five silvers.

Not that there were makeup shops catering to monsters topside, anyways. This was probably a one-time purchase. It would look nice while it lasted.

Anthony thanked Simon as he left the shop, revenant trailing behind him.

“What now?”

He asked himself more than anyone who would be listening. The revenant twitched.

My face feels strange.

Anthony smiled.

But you look human. That’s good.

Yes. Good.

He kept the smile until he remembered that he was virtually broke.

Three days. Twenty-seven coppers. It wasn’t looking great.

— -

Flares, natural swells in the massive wells of mana underneath and around the city, occur regularly every three months. If harnessed underground in close proximity, they provide a nearly unlimited source of magical energy. Drastum is one of the hidden cities of abyss—using its location on top of a major well to produce its chief export: mana in the form of crystals and recharged artifacts (turn to chapter four: Mana Wells, Formation and Harnessing, for more information). The flares both solidify and endanger the city’s existence as a strategic asset; mana can be drawn much more freely, but the increased concentrations strengthen underground monsters and monsterfolk—who eventually converge on the mana wells like moths to a flame (turn to chapter eight: A History of Abyssal Incursions, for information regarding notable attacks, and chapter ten: Underground Bastions—Modus Operandi, for information regarding the city’s ability to withstand such attacks).

The flares themselves last a few days and are the topic of much speculation amidst the magical community—for what could possibly cause such large-scale, consistent disruptions? Ancient creatures of incomprehensible nature, slumbering deep beneath the surface, affecting mana levels across continents? A natural cycle of the world, rising and falling through the intersection of ley lines—theoretical as of the time this book was published—similar to the ocean’s tides? It is believed such answers could be cause for great—

Anthony shut the book with a loud clap. He honestly didn’t care about the content—though the book was interesting, he’d read All You Need to Know About Drastum through at least four times before, and was honestly not in the mood for doing anything other than idly thumbing the pages after surviving the last three days.

But he’d made it. He was here.

Sitting on a bench in a queue behind the main teleportation array—the one that could take hundreds of people at a time to cities a mile above—Anthony fidgeted with his trunk. Inside was everything he thought he should bring; clothes, some left-over ritual materials, notebooks, a sewing kit, some dried mushrooms—for Alicia and his dad to try—and… nothing else.

He wasn’t someone of many material possessions. Anthony quit thinking of how little he owned and glanced over at the revenant sitting besides him. It was staring at the massive white pillars in front of them, which he couldn’t fault. Even from here, they hummed with magical power.

Anthony followed the revenant’s gaze and saw—with no little amount of relief—that the array was almost done charging up. It was more of a feeling; you didn’t even have to be a [Mage] to sense the dense streams of mana in the air. But if that wasn’t obvious enough, the runes covering the pillars containing the magic circle were beginning to glow brightly.

Warm light spilled onto the rows of waiting people and a magically-enhanced voice rang out.

“Attention, everybody. We are establishing a link to Kriloris now. If that is your destination, exit the queuing area and assemble inside the gate. Ten minutes to activation. I repeat, the Kriloris gate is opening in ten minutes.”

Anthony quickly stuck the book into his trunk and stood up.

That’s our cue.

Cue. Queue. Hah. Anthony and the revenant moved along with the mass of people heading into the area bounded by the pillars. With the flare charging up the arrays, they’d arrive at Kriloris’ teleportation gate as soon as it opened—just travelers from another city, no questions asked.

Anthony stepped onto a marked circle inside the area bounded by the pillars, setting down his trunk. The revenant moved away to a different circle—they were categorized by weight and size. Around them, people settled down into similar pre-marked coordinates, with officials moving about making sure everyone was in their place.

The pillars suddenly stopped glowing, transferring their light to a dizzyingly complex web of runes on the very ground they were standing on. Anthony closed his eyes and waited.

“Attention to those inside the gate. Activating to Kriloris in two minutes. Do not move out of position.”

He took in a deep breath. His head swam and light was seeping through his eyelids. Almost. Seconds ticked down in his mind and he cleared his thoughts. It would make it easier to bear.

“Activating in one minute. Do not move out of position.”

Around him, the sounds of people breathing faded away. There was only light. A wave of vertigo suddenly passed through him and there was a pop—

— -

The first thing he noticed was that the air smelled different. Anthony cracked his eyes open and saw that they were in a different place. No longer underground.

“Attention, gate travelers. You may step out of position and make your way to the receiving area. Welcome to Kriloris.”

A different voice was calling out. Anthony picked up his trunk, stretched, and followed the mass of people again. When they exited the gate structure, there was sunlight. Sunlight.

Anthony found the revenant as it was staring into the sky.

This is the surface?

Yes. We’ll be living here now.

I like it.

Me too.

There was nothing more to say. It was good to be back.