The tunnel didn't look dangerous.
That was the problem.
It was wide enough to walk through, carved smooth by something that understood stone better than people ever would. The walls were dark, warm to the touch, and the air slowly grew thicker as they went deeper.
Volow walked first.
Yuki followed close behind, eyes sharp, body tense.
Marga brought up the rear, calm as always. Suki padded beside Volow, tail low, senses alert.
The light from above faded fast.
After a while, the tunnel sloped downward sharply.
"Careful," Volow said.
The ground suddenly gave way.
Everything dropped.
Volow felt his stomach rise as the floor vanished beneath his feet. Yuki shouted once.
Marga reacted instantly, grabbing Suki and bracing herself, but there was nothing to hold.
They fell.
Not far—but hard.
Volow slammed into stone, rolling until his back hit something solid. The air was punched out of his lungs. Heat rushed up around them, thick and suffocating.
For a second, no one spoke.
Then Volow tried to stand.
Pain hit him instantly.
His legs buckled like they no longer belonged to him. His knees crashed back into the ground, stone biting into bone.
"What—" he gasped.
It felt like the world was pressing down on him.
Not just gravity.
Everything.
His chest struggled to expand. Each breath felt wrong, shallow, forced. Sweat broke out instantly, skin burning as if the air itself was too hot to exist in.
Beside him, Yuki groaned.
He tried to stand too.
Failed.
His hands clawed at the ground as his body shook violently.
"This—this place—" Yuki gasped. "It's crushing me!"
Volow could barely lift his head. His vision blurred at the edges. Heat pressed into his muscles, into his bones, like his body was being reshaped by force.
Pain flared at Yuki's neck.
He screamed.
Volow turned his head just enough to see it—skin splitting slightly under pressure, blood seeping out where heat and force met flesh.
"I—can't—" Yuki choked. "My neck—!"
Marga was standing.
Not just standing—stable.
Suki sat calmly beside her, ears twitching, completely unaffected.
Volow barely understood what he was seeing.
"How—" he rasped.
Marga moved fast, kneeling beside them.
"Listen to me," she said sharply. "Both of you. Don't fight the pressure."
Volow coughed. "It feels like it's trying to kill us."
"It will," Marga said. "If you resist."
She grabbed Volow's shoulder, firm.
"Spread your Veil," she ordered. "Across your whole body. Not outward. Evenly. Like a second skin."
Volow's hands shook.
"I—I can't focus."
"You have to," Marga said. "No gaps. No imbalance. If even one part is weaker, the pressure will crush it."
She turned to Yuki. "Same for you. Now."
Yuki clenched his teeth, eyes wide with pain. "I don't—know how—"
"Then feel it," Marga snapped. "Don't control it. Let it cover you."
Volow closed his eyes.
The heat.
The weight.
The pain.
He forced his Veil outward, not as force—but as presence. Letting it settle. Letting it spread.
At first, nothing changed.
Then—slightly—the pressure eased.
Just enough.
Volow sucked in a deeper breath.
His legs stopped shaking as violently.
Yuki screamed once more—then went quiet.
The skin at his neck burned, tore just a little more—and then stopped.
The Veil settled.
Slowly, painfully, both of them adapted.
Minutes passed.
Finally, Volow managed to stand.
It felt like lifting a mountain—but he did it.
Yuki followed, breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face. A dark, raw scar marked the side of his neck, already permanent.
He touched it once, winced, then laughed weakly.
"Guess I'm keeping that," he said.
Marga stood and crossed her arms.
"You're struggling just to stand," she said flatly. "And you think you're ready to fight what lives here?"
Volow swallowed.
The weight of her words hit harder than the gravity.
"If it's like this at the surface…" he said quietly, "what's it like deeper down?"
Marga didn't answer immediately.
Instead, Volow asked, "You brought Crustfolk here before. How did they survive this?"
Marga glanced ahead. "They don't come like this."
"What do you mean?"
"There are suits," she said. "Made in the Inner World. They adjust pressure, heat, breathing. Without them, most people would break before reaching a settlement."
Volow exhaled slowly.
"So we're doing this the hard way."
"Yes," Marga replied. "The honest way."
They finally looked around properly.
The Mantle stretched endlessly.
Massive stone arches rose overhead, glowing faintly from heat veins running through the rock like slow fire. The ground wasn't flat—it dipped and curved unnaturally, like the world itself was alive and breathing.
Far ahead—
Lights.
A settlement.
Buildings carved directly into stone walls.
Bridges of dark metal. Smoke rising from vents cut into the ground. Figures moved through the heat like they belonged there.
Yuki stared.
"…That's a town," he said.
Volow nodded. "Looks like it."
As they approached, eyes turned toward them.
As they stepped closer to the settlement, the reaction was immediate.
People didn't whisper.
They stared.
Work stopped. Conversations died mid-sentence. Eyes followed every step Volow and the others took.
Clothes from the surface.
No suits.
No protection.
Crustfolk.
A man stepped out from the crowd.
He wasn't armored. No insignia. No guards behind him. Just a heavy build, broad shoulders, and a Veil so dense it felt like a wall even from a distance.
"So," he said flatly, "the surface is throwing trash down here now."
Yuki tensed. "We're not here to—"
The man moved.
Volow barely saw it.
A punch crashed into his stomach, folding him instantly. Heat and pressure exploded inside his body as he slammed into the ground, breath torn out of him.
Yuki rushed forward.
Bad idea.
The man turned and struck him mid-step. Bone met force. Yuki flew sideways, crashing hard into stone. The scar on his neck burned like fire.
Volow tried to stand.
Failed.
The man kicked him back down without even looking.
"You can't even stand properly," he said. "And you came here thinking you mattered?"
Yuki forced himself up, teeth clenched, Veil flaring wildly.
The man hit him again.
Yuki dropped.
Hard.
Blood smeared the stone beneath him.
The crowd watched.
Not shocked.
Amused.
Then—
A sharp sound cut through the air.
Marga moved.
She didn't shout. She didn't warn.
She appeared behind the man and drove her blade straight through his back.
Clean.
Precise.
The man froze.
Looked down.
Then collapsed.
Dead before he hit the ground.
Silence slammed into the street.
People stepped back instantly.
Not fear.
Recognition.
They felt it now.
Her Veil.
Heavy. Refined. Wrong for this place.
Inner World.
Marga turned slowly, eyes cold.
"Anyone else," she said, "feel like testing them?"
No one moved.
Not a single step.
She looked down at Volow and Yuki.
"Get up," she said.
They struggled to their feet, bodies shaking, pride shattered.
Marga walked them away from the crowd and into a quieter section near a carved stone wall.
"That man," she said calmly, "was a civilian."
Volow blinked. "What?"
"No rank. No training for war," Marga continued. "Just someone who grew up here."
She stared straight at them.
"And he beat you both like children."
Yuki clenched his fists.
Volow looked down, jaw tight.
"You're here to challenge the King of Solem," Marga went on. "And you couldn't survive ten seconds against a nobody."
She turned away. "Pathetic."
Silence followed.
Then Volow spoke.
Low.
Steady.
"I trust Pine."
Marga paused.
"He didn't train me for nothing," Volow said, lifting his head. "I know I'm weak. I feel it more than anyone."
He clenched his fist.
"But I'll get stronger. Strong enough to stand here. Strong enough to go deeper."
He looked ahead, eyes burning.
"I promise—I'll surpass them all."
A slow clap echoed behind them.
They turned.
A man stood nearby, leaning casually against a pillar, arms crossed. He looked relaxed—but his presence pressed down harder than the Mantle itself.
"…Did you say Pine?" the man asked.
Marga's eyes narrowed instantly.
"You were listening," she said.
He smirked. "You're Crustfolk. Of course I was listening. That alone makes you interesting."
His gaze sharpened on Volow.
"And now you're talking about defeating the Supreme King."
Marga moved without hesitation.
Her blade flashed.
The man caught her wrist mid-strike.
Stopped her completely.
Marga's eyes widened.
She tried to pull free.
Couldn't.
The man leaned closer, still holding her easily.
"You're strong," he said. "But not enough."
Then he looked at Volow.
"…You," he continued, "are weak."
He paused.
Then smiled.
"But I can fix that."
The street had gone silent.
Yuki stared.
Volow's heart slammed in his chest.
"I'll train you," the man said. "All of you."
Marga finally broke free, stepping back, stunned.
The man released Marga's wrist and stepped back.
Marga finally broke free, stepping back, stunned.
"Why?" Volow asked.
The man didn't answer right away.
He turned and started walking toward the deeper streets of the Mantle.
After a few steps, he spoke—without looking back.
"Because people like you don't come here by accident."
He paused.
"And the ones who do… either die fast, or change everything."
He glanced over his shoulder once, eyes unreadable.
"Decide which one you want to be."
Then he walked on.
The crowd slowly parted for him.
Volow stood there, heart pounding, Veil trembling—not from fear.
From resolve.