Chapter 20 — Down Below
The iron key felt heavy in my hand. S-305. My new home. Not high in the skies of the Towers, but buried deep below. It didn't matter. I was inside.
I followed the painted arrows until I reached the elevators. A guard scanned my slip and pointed.
"That one runs to the basements. Keep your key."
The cab groaned when I stepped in. The wheel of numbers glowed, hundreds of floors climbing up—and below zero, numbers kept running. –1, –40, –142… all the way down to –305. I slid the key into the slot. The wheel locked. The cab sank.
The higher levels fell away quickly. The air changed, cooler, heavier, with the hum of pipes behind the walls. No incense, no shine, just concrete and steel. Finally, the elevator chimed. –305.
The doors opened to a quiet corridor. Clean walls, strip lights humming overhead, and brass plates with unit numbers. I counted until I reached mine: S-305-19.
The lock clicked when I turned the key. My room was small, but it was mine: a single bed, a desk, a narrow bathroom, and a screen mounted on the wall. On the desk sat an envelope stamped: WELCOME TO THE TOWERS.
I tapped the card inside. The screen came to life, a smooth voice speaking over maps of the Tower.
> Welcome, Resident. Assignment: S-305-19. Status: Provisional Citizen.
Panels scrolled across the screen, each one laying out the basics.
The Tower is a city.
Markets, guild halls, hospitals, arenas, training facilities.
Sub-level 305 was listed as "Maintenance, Foundry, Transit Dock C."
Curfew: 1:00 to 5:00.
Arena Access: Floors 80, 240, 520.
Guild Contracts: Jobs posted daily, credits paid for hunts, deliveries, labor.
Trait Registry: Mandatory within seventy-two hours. Non-disclosure punishable.
The word Arena held my attention. So did Masking: legal personas, allowed to hide identity in combat. I remembered that line.
The tutorial showed a simple map of the sub-level—residency blocks on one side, canteen and work halls on the other. A small food icon blinked at the end of the corridor. "Cantina 305. Blue Stamp." Meals priced by weight.
Another slide: Community Advice. Keep your key on you. Learn alternate routes. Don't show off money. Respect neighbors. Straightforward rules.
The last part was about Contribution Credits. Everything cost something—training rooms, better food, utilities. You earned credits by working contracts or in the arena. No credits, no living.
When the tutorial ended, the screen dimmed. A faint green light blinked at the corner. I leaned back in the chair. The rules of the Tower were simple: survive, pay, grow stronger.
I opened the bathroom—tight, but clean. The bed was firm, with folded sheets ready. The silence wasn't heavy like the Abyss. It was… waiting.
A chime interrupted. I turned to see a tray sliding through a slot in the wall: a mug of tea, a packet of porridge, and a square of bread.
> Welcome Meal — Day 1. Contribution Balance: 0. Orientation Tasks: Register Trait (72h), Sector Tour, Contribution Exchange Signup.
I ate quickly, the food plain but filling. Then I washed the mug and set it back.
I placed my space ring on the desk. The tutorial's words came back: Hearts transferred as gifts must be registered. Good. That meant no one would question what I gave Laura. The rest stayed hidden.
I lay back on the bed, the key still warm in my pocket.
Basement level or not, I had stepped into the Tower. This was my foothold. From here, I would climb.
---
A knock came at the door.
I frowned. Too soon for neighbors. I opened it, hand near my blade out of habit.
A man leaned casually against the frame. Mid-twenties, sharp eyes, smirk that said he'd already judged me and didn't mind sharing the verdict. His coat wasn't standard issue—it was patched leather, lined with hidden pockets.
"You Avon Standfeild?" he asked.
I didn't answer. My silence was enough.
He chuckled. "Relax. I'm not here to fight you. Name's Raze. Think of me as… concierge for the sub-levels. Whatever you need, I can get it. Food, gear, Beast parts, even things the Tower pretends don't exist."
So there was a black market here. I didn't let the thought show on my face.
I asked the one thing that mattered. "Hunting pass. How do I get one?"
Raze's grin widened. "Straight to business, huh? Good. The Tower doesn't let anyone walk into the wilds alone. You need guild backing. That's where I come in."
"Guilds?"
"There are ten main guilds tied to this Tower," he explained, holding up both hands. "Five top guilds that run the higher floors. Five down here in the sub-levels. Doesn't matter if you're rich or broke, noble or rat—you want out of the walls, you need one of them. They issue the contracts. They pay out the credits. They keep the books."
He leaned closer. "Each floor has five hundred rooms. Do the math. Thousands of residents. Most of them want to climb, but the guilds decide who gets the contracts. Without them, you're just another hungry body."
I narrowed my eyes. "And you?"
"I know people," Raze said easily. "Leaders. Brokers. Hunters. For a price, I can open doors. You've got something to sell? I can move it. You want a pass to hunt? I can point you to the right guild and make sure they don't throw your application in the trash."
He looked me over again, as if measuring. "You survived the Crucible. That makes you valuable. Sub-level guilds will be fighting over you if you play it right."
I let a beat of silence stretch, then asked, "And if I don't?"
Raze shrugged. "Then you rot in –305 like everyone else who thought surviving was enough."
I met his gaze. I didn't flinch. "Good to know."
He tapped the doorframe with two fingers. "Think it over. I'll be around." Then he turned and walked down the corridor, coat swaying, boots quiet against the concrete.
I shut the door, locked it, and sat back on the bed.
So that was how it worked. Guilds controlled the hunts. Guilds controlled the credits. Guilds controlled the climb.
But guilds weren't gods.
They were doors. And every door had a way to be forced open.