Re-entering Sunstone City was like slipping back into a past life. A ghost returning to haunt its own grave. The Crimson Syndicate's secret tunnels were a marvel of underworld engineering. A hidden network of ancient sewer lines and forgotten catacombs.
They allowed them to move beneath the city like blood in its veins. They emerged from a rusted grate. A foul-smelling, garbage-choked alley.
A world away from the manicured lawns of the academy.
The city was in a state of controlled, militarized chaos. The air was filled with the distant, blaring sound of containment sirens. The panicked shouts of civilians.
The monstrous roars of dungeon beasts. Squads of Royal Guards and grim-faced, black-robed Inquisitorial agents were a common sight.
Their movements were sharp and purposeful. They established a perimeter around the breach zone.
