The name seemed too alive for a place so drowned in dust and years. Her tone was oddly cheerful, almost playful, as though she had just introduced herself at a dinner table rather than emerging from years of confinement.
Soren blinked once, and the faint blue flare that had flickered behind his crimson irises dimmed back to their usual ember-red. Her last name clung to him like a whisper he could not place. He said nothing, but something in his stillness gave him away — the brief tightening of his jaw, the faint intake of breath that never became words.
Vivienne tilted her head, studying him. Her amethyst eyes shimmered like glass catching candlelight — a color too vivid for the subterranean dark. Her smile didn't waver, though there was something brittle beneath it, a tremor just shy of nervousness.
She was beautiful, yes, but in a way that seemed accidental, unstudied. Her long purple hair fell in disheveled waves to her waist, streaked with dust yet somehow luminous. Tiny silver chains were woven through several locks, each holding a small charm — crescent moons, thorns, and one tarnished ring that looked older than she was. Around her neck, she wore layered necklaces of jet-black beads, some broken, others strung with fragments of glass or bone. Her wrists were wrapped with faded leather bands and metal bracelets dulled by age, and a black ribbon tied loosely around her right forearm fluttered slightly when she moved.
Faint tattoos traced her skin — fine black lines, delicate, almost calligraphic, winding up her arms like vines. On her left collarbone, just visible above the frayed edge of her sleeveless top, was a small sigil: a circle bisected by what looked like a blade. Her clothes were torn and old, but she wore them as if they still belonged to another life — a tattered black corset-laced shirt, belts fastened haphazardly around her waist, and a dark skirt split unevenly at the thigh, revealing the suggestion of worn stockings beneath.
For a moment, she only stared at Soren, eyes wide and alive, before realizing the way she was positioned — still on top of him, their faces a breath apart. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she leapt back with surprising agility.
"I–I'm sorry!" she stammered, voice softening as she clasped her hands behind her back, a nervous smile tugging at her lips. "It's just… I haven't seen anyone in so long!"
Soren sat up slowly, brushing dust from his coat. His heartbeat hadn't changed, but his focus had — sharpened, measured. He studied her as one studies a dangerous artifact — beautiful, yes, but unknown in nature.
Marcus, still standing by the doorway, blinked between them in quiet disbelief.
Then, all at once, the world convulsed.
The ground beneath their feet trembled violently, sending dust into the air in thick, choking clouds. The hanging lamp swung wildly, casting erratic shadows that danced over their faces. Stones rattled loose from the ceiling, clattering to the floor as cracks split along the tunnel walls like veins spreading across the flesh of the earth. The noise was deafening — a low, thunderous groan that seemed to come from the bones of the world itself.
Marcus stumbled, one hand clutching his pack, the other steadying himself against the trembling wall. "What's happening!?" he shouted over the roar, voice edged with panic.
"And why the hell would we know?" Vivienne shot back, her tone half-snapping, half-laughing — a kind of mad composure amid chaos. Her purple hair whipped about her face like a storm in motion, the dim light glinting off the silver rings that lined her ears and the black ink of a tattoo curling up her wrist.
"Well, you're just super helpful, aren't you!" Marcus spat.
"Be quiet. Both of you." Soren's command cut through the noise like a blade. He stood steady, hand raised slightly as if feeling the rhythm of the tremors through the air. His red eyes flickered faintly — not out of fear, but focus.
The rumbling intensified, then, just as suddenly, it stopped.
Silence fell. Dust drifted down in thin streams. Marcus exhaled shakily. "Well… whatever that was, I think it's over."
But the quiet didn't last.
A sharp crack split the air, and before any of them could react, the ceiling above them caved in. A blinding light tore through the gloom as stone and metal crashed to the ground, sending a shockwave through the room. The floor buckled. Soren threw an arm over his eyes as debris exploded outward. When the dust began to settle, a shaft of sunlight poured through a vast, jagged hole in the ceiling — a wound torn straight through the earth.
Soren lowered his arm slowly, eyes narrowing. Something massive loomed above.
Light shimmered against steel. Towering shadows rippled through the dust. At first, it looked like a mirage — a city hanging in the sky, suspended on trembling beams of light. But as the haze thinned, reality came into focus.
A city. A colossal, rusted leviathan of one — suspended on eight spider-like mechanical legs that dug deep into the shifting sands above. Its surface was a tangled mess of metal and cables, of rusted scaffolds and sharp-edged towers reaching toward the burning sun. The structures seemed to have grown out of one another, fused together like the bones of a great creature that refused to die. Steam hissed from its joints, and the rhythmic thrum of gears echoed faintly through the air.
"Holy…" Marcus breathed, his voice cracking as he took in the sight.
Vivienne tilted her head back, her amethyst eyes wide but unreadable, the pale light of the sun glinting against the black stone choker at her throat. "I've heard stories about this," she murmured. "The City of Crawling Steel."
Soren's gaze was fixed upward, the red in his eyes reflecting the shifting light. "So it's real…"
Perched high along the city's outer platforms were guards — silhouettes against the glaring sun. Dozens of them, armored in dark scrap metal and leather, each one wearing a mask shaped like a panther's face. The design was crude but intimidating, each mask painted in jagged streaks of black and bronze. Their weapons gleamed: rifles, crossbows, and long steel pikes that glinted like teeth.
And in the center, crouched upon the edge of a great metal gate, was a figure unlike the rest.
He was smaller, leaner, and his mask was different — not a panther, but a jaguar, sculpted with finer lines and sharper fangs. The rest stood rigid, but he balanced effortlessly, perched like a predator watching prey. His elbows rested lazily on his knees, his gloved fingers drumming against the steel. Even from below, Soren could feel the weight of his stare.
The man tilted his head, almost curiously. Then — in the blink of an eye — he was gone.
Soren's heartbeat quickened. His senses sharpened. He scanned the edges of the crater, the broken ledges, the shattered stone — and there.
A flicker of movement.
The jaguar-masked man crouched upon a jutting outcrop of rock only a few meters away, the sunlight catching on his blade's edge. His black braided hair was tousled by the wind, strands of it escaping the confines of his mask. A faint trail of sand spiralled through the air around him, carrying the scent of dust and metal.
Then, just as suddenly, he vanished again — a blur of motion, a gust of displaced air — and Soren felt the cold press of steel against his throat.
The man stood before him now, his presence calm yet predatory. The blade he held had a wooden hilt carved with intricate etchings — patterns that looked like fangs biting into one another. The edge trembled slightly against Soren's skin, drawing a single drop of blood that rolled down his neck.
Soren didn't move. His eyes met the man's through the mask — unflinching, assessing.
Marcus froze, hand halfway to his knife. Vivienne's grin had vanished, replaced by a quiet, intent stare, her body tense as a wire.
The man's voice was smooth, controlled, almost casual — like a hunter addressing a trapped animal. "Sorry to crash your little party," he said, his words slow and deliberate. "But you'll be coming with us."
He pressed the blade a little deeper, just enough to make the blood bead again, and Soren's jaw clenched.
Above them, the city's shadow shifted — a colossal silhouette of gears, towers, and crawling machinery blotting out the sun — as if the world itself had turned to watch what would happen next.