| 5th of Teryusin — Year 362 of the Cycle of Synthesis, Grand Cycle ??? |
Anyone who might have listened for more than a moment to the pronunciation of ‘Buril’ would notice it immediately. “Under Buril” sounded strikingly similar to “Under Burial”. That phrase was spot on, not simply for the closely sounding phrases but because of the underlying meaning present in the slums’ name.
Oddly enough, the White City didn’t originate from some grandiose and carefully chosen point zero that the forefathers laid great thought into. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Towards the center of Cias Buril and wrenched more than a few hundred feet deep into the bowels of the earth laid an entire district that was almost the size of the city above ground, if not even larger. It was the unofficial seventeenth district.
“A disgusting melting pot of unclean wretches who only seek one thing: to strike it rich one day.”
A politician once uttered the quote, and not many could refute it despite the harshness of the language coined, for it was undeniably true. Much of the population that resided in Under Buril worked tirelessly every single day in the hopes Teslapius might smile on them and reward their efforts with the unveiling of a neverseen dungeon or digging up a sizable vein of rare minerals.
It had happened multiple times in the city’s past. The now-swept clean Rocks-Fall and Shadow’s Reach dungeons were prime examples. Fortunate were the lucky two who had discovered them, for they were rewarded with three lifetimes’ over worth of money. In an era as widely known as Synthesis, new discoveries were about just as pricey and interesting as the latest carts’ haul of Azdanti, Gemigir, or Fyrjan.
Still, isn’t it too dark here?
The heatless golden flame in Raoul’s right hand was flickering. Darkness encompassed him in every single direction, mirroring the same vastness of his Path but with all the unseen and unknown horrors that came with the dark. Scents of rust and corroded metals from the rails permeated his lungs, forcing him to craft a makeshift mask out of the purple handkerchief in his pocket.
Under Buril wasn’t exactly cordoned off or labeled a restricted area by the city’s authorities. It was about as open to the public as any other of the sixteen districts were. It was mostly the method of getting there that discouraged people from even attempting the move. There was only one: trekking through one of the many subway tunnels for approximately half an hour. Each one remained as a visage of the Eight Cycle of Industry, and in all the years the city had existed there had been no projects proposed to renovate each one to promote travel between Under and Upper.
A part of Raoul was nervous. He had heard stories of the difference in living conditions. Where Cias Buril properly enforced proper hygiene and infrastructure along with clean sidewalks and proper roads, stories of Under Buril often labeled it as being completely detached from most technology and being nothing more than a tattered mess of carved stone houses. Thankfully, cell service was a thing down there too, as most mining companies that frequently sent mining expeditions down there needed ways to ensure proper communication. Not that said signals were anything to write home about.
His mind was more focused on trying to discern Idri’s reason for being so far away from everybody else. Avoiding him was understandable—his mother was far too unpredictable, and he wasn’t sure whether she wouldn’t suddenly draw a blade and try to cut her down the moment she showed up. Avil and Calliope were another point entirely, however. Unlike Raoul, the three of them presumably kept contact. As tight knit friends, he found it hard to believe that the two would deny Idri refuge when they had done so countless times before.
The video Krocko had sent was even more unbelievable to the eyes. It was only ten seconds long, and the shaky camera made it difficult to properly notice the details, but it was undeniable. Idri, who he had fancied as nothing more than a physically frail girl who would rather talk fashion than draw a blade, had been doing exactly the latter and without difficulty. Her movements were blitzing even the six adults she was contending with, and with each slash she seemed to move on as if the thought and act of killing wasn’t affecting her even slightly.
Unfortunately, the person who had recorded the video was barely capable of even keeping the camera focused on her, with much of the footage only managing to capture her backside. Long flowing white hair wasn’t a common point in most Burilans, so it was either a passionate cosplayer with the physical attributes to dwarf skilled swordsmen or really Idri, but changed.
And there’s that sword… Raoul mused as he trudged step by step through the dead tunnel. I wonder where she got it. It had a broken edge, but was cutting through people like a hot knife through butter.
Again, swordsmanship wasn’t Raoul’s expertise, so he couldn’t find many points to analyze in the short combat sequence. All of that had to be left for later. He promptly shoved every single thought relating to Idri towards the back of his mind for the moment and focused his energy on actually reaching his destination.
He didn’t think the underground could extend that high.
The narrow, cramped subway tunnels abruptly branched upward, and passing through the threshold felt like he had entered a different world entirely. He craned his head vertically, attempting to find the edge of the horizon, but both darkness and fog crept into his vision, shielding much of the periphery and limiting his vision to no more than a few hundred meters.
Luckily, the mustiness of the subway was subsiding the farther he walked on, and within seconds he had pried off the handkerchief and allowed himself to breathe in the air.
A carved path trailed across the rocky stone, and following it, Raoul was quickly greeted first with the nearing strikes of pickaxes against stone. Rhythmic clicks echoed in the far distance, being the majority of the source of sound in the otherwise quiet expanse. Following that were even more faded deep voices. Inching closer, Raoul quickly identified the jolly, repeating tune much alike a sea shanty as a work song used to stave off boredom and increase teamwork. This one was lighter, he thought, and of four beats.
In fact, he knew the very song they were singing. More akin to a nursery rhyme, but it was no doubt hers.
“Is that… Idri’s song?”
He had to learn more. And forward he increased his pace, breaking off already into a light jog.
Distinct shapes in the stone soon appeared more prominent as he furthered. Three sideways glances. Most of the stones had been carved, propped upright on each other, and held tight with primitive means of binding, like ropes and mud and mortar. Often each one came with appropriately sculpted doorways and multiple windows.
People were starting to notice his arrival. A child clothed in rags lit up as he passed their house, and quickly ran back home to tell their parents the news. “A visitor!” the child shouted, and from the windows came the curious faces of dozens of similarly dressed natives—many of which were dusted from head to toe in dirt and ash.
He couldn’t resist the questions that were beginning to arise within him. Stopping a passing male worker that was carrying a sack loaded to the brim with piles of coal, Raoul quickly fired off a series of questions.
“Excuse me,” he huffed off. “What’s that song? Why are people singing it? And… have you seen a girl named Idri around here?”
“Slow down there, buddy.”
The man strained his back, setting down the sack on the side of the street.
“You must be new here, huh?” he continued, looking him up and down. “Well, I ain’t never heard of an Idri, but I can tell you about that song. It’s a little rhyme our folks picked up from when listening to Pale-Eye butchering gang members. Often ‘eard her singing it while fighting, she was. And we noticed how easy and pleasant it sounded to the ears, so we started singing it too.”
Raoul was more than lost for words. He shook off most of the questions he was conjuring and instead eyed on the most important one. “This Pale-Eye… is she a girl about my age, with long flowing white hair?”
“Did she now… Yeah, yeah! She did have that, she did. Why, is she your girlfriend? Tough luck, buddy. She’s got her eyes closed for everyone. And I mean that literally. None of us miners have had a single moment where we’ve seen her with her eyes open. We call her Pale-Eye ‘cause of that.”
“It’s not like that… Gurgh, could you please just tell me where you last saw this Pale-Eye? I have business with her.”
The man let out a content bellow. “I’m busting your legs, man.” He pointed a nonchalant finger directly behind him. “You’ll get on her trail if you continue along the main road. Supposedly her mission for the day is finally putting an end to that damned Goldstone Gang that’s been terrorizing us honest folk for a while now. She’s heading straight for the boss, who often holes himself up in the stone building near the edge of the trail. Planning on cutting off his head, she is.”
“...Thank you.”
Time was of the essence.