Cain's boots hit the concrete with a dull thud, a rhythm synced with his heartbeats. The city had grown quieter the deeper they went into the Underside, where light dared not reach and forgotten whispers clung to the air like cobwebs. He kept his eyes on the strange parchment, held tightly in his gloved hands, while Elias and Riven trailed close behind.
Aiko skipped ahead, humming some broken tune under her breath, twirling a knife between her fingers. Kaze walked like he knew exactly where he was going, even if he never said a word. His coat flared behind him, blending with the dark.
"We really trusting this guy?" Riven muttered, leaning toward Elias.
"Do we have a choice?" Elias replied, eyes scanning the alley.
They followed Kaze through twisting alleys, past buildings eaten away by time and rot. Every few blocks, strange symbols flickered on walls—runes drawn in red chalk that shimmered faintly under the sickly streetlamps.
"Are those spells?" Cain asked.
"Warnings," Kaze said. "The Guild likes their boundaries. You cross them wrong, they won't ask twice."
They finally stopped in front of a dead end. Nothing but bricks. Kaze raised his hand and pressed his palm against a particular stone. It hissed with heat, and a sigil lit up in a dull orange glow, burning like a smoldering ember.
The wall trembled—and then it disappeared.
Beyond it was a spiraling staircase carved into rock, lit with floating flames that pulsed in sync with their footsteps. Cain felt like he was stepping into another world entirely.
The Guild wasn't what he expected. It wasn't a secret council with robes or a throne room dripping in gold. No, the Guild of the Fallen Flame looked like a mix of an old forge, a magic library, and an underground city built inside an ancient volcano.
Sparks flew from anvils. Runes carved themselves into the air. People in armor, cloaks, or flowing coats moved with precision. Some trained in open rings, sparring with blades made of obsidian and enchanted fire. Others sat in circles, chanting over grimoires or brewing thick potions that smelled like burnt metal and moss.
Cain had never seen so many kinds of people—and creatures. A girl with wings stitched to her back. A man with a metal jaw. A child who glowed softly, like a lantern wrapped in flesh.
They were survivors. Monsters. Outcasts. Warriors. Just like him.
"Welcome to the edge of salvation," Kaze said dryly. "Try not to get yourself cursed."
They were led to the center chamber by a tall woman with scars like lightning bolts across her skin. Her name was Serika, and she didn't smile.
"Heard you were coming," she said, stopping in front of a circular stone table engraved with symbols. "Didn't believe it."
"Why?" Elias asked.
"Because we don't let devils' sons walk in here without a price."
Cain stiffened. "We didn't ask to be born from him."
Serika narrowed her eyes. "Neither did the world. But it has to pay anyway. So do you."
She turned and whistled.
From the shadows stepped a boy about Cain's age, maybe younger. He had violet eyes, short black hair that curled at the ends, and a lazy smirk on his face. A crescent scar curled under his jaw.
"This is Nova," Serika said. "He'll be your test."
Cain blinked. "Test?"
"You want access to the Guild? You pass through Nova first."
Nova cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. "Don't worry. I'll go easy on you. Ish."
The training ring was enclosed by ancient bones—the ribs of some massive beast that had died long before any of them were born. The crowd gathered quickly, whispering and betting.
Cain faced Nova under the flickering torchlight, his pulse racing.
Nova winked. "Try not to die, devil boy. Wouldn't want to make your fan club cry."
Cain scowled and lunged forward.
Nova dodged effortlessly, like he was made of mist. Then he struck—fast. Too fast. Cain stumbled back, his cheek stinging. Blood. First hit.
He clenched his jaw and steadied his stance.
He thought of Elias, Riven, the flames in his dreams, the voice that always whispered his name when he was on the brink of sleep.
He called on that fire.
His eyes flickered crimson. Just for a second. Long enough.
Cain vanished.
Nova spun, barely catching Cain's movement—too late. A punch slammed into his ribs. He flew backward into the sand.
The crowd went silent.
Nova stood, wiping blood from his mouth.
And laughed.
"Okay," he said, his eyes burning with thrill. "Now we're talking."
They fought for nearly ten minutes. No powers. No weapons. Just fists, instincts, and stubborn wills.
When it ended, both boys stood barely breathing, bruised and shaking.
Nova dropped his arms and grinned. "Alright. You're in."
Cain blinked. "Wait, that's it?"
"You hit like hellfire," Nova said, clapping him on the back. "That's enough."
Serika watched with her arms crossed. "You pass. But this is just the start. You want to fight the Devil? You'll need more than rage and reflex. You'll need control."
She gestured toward the eastern chamber.
"Go rest. Training starts at dawn. And don't die before then. I hate paperwork."
That night, as the boys lay in hammocks strung between stone pillars, Cain stared at the ceiling and whispered:
"We found them. A real place. A real chance."
Riven smirked. "We might actually survive this."
Elias nodded. "Might even win."
And somewhere in the dark halls of the Guild, a door creaked open.
Unseen.
Unheard.
Until it was too late.