Chapter Sixteen: Beneath the Lines
They didn't take the streets.
Maelra led them through a half-collapsed bathhouse, down a stairwell that smelled of rust and forgotten steam. The city above groaned—stone complaining as weight shifted where it hadn't in centuries.
"Are you sure this goes somewhere?" Tamsin asked, ducking under a low arch.
Maelra didn't slow. "It used to."
"That's not comforting."
Aerin followed, pulse racing, guided by the pull in their chest. The echo wasn't panicking anymore. It was… pointing.
This way, it seemed to say. You built wrong above me.
Kerris huffed as they descended. "You know, most cities keep their secrets in libraries. Ours apparently hides them in damp holes."
They reached the bottom.
The tunnel opened into a wide chamber—older than the city above it, its stone smooth with age and care. Pillars rose in careful symmetry, uncracked, untouched by the chaos above.
Aerin stopped short.
"Oh," they breathed.
Maelra went still.
"These foundations," she whispered. "They're not load-bearing."
Tamsin frowned. "That seems… bad."
"No," Maelra said slowly. "It's brilliant."
Aerin stepped forward, hands trembling as they pressed their palm to the nearest pillar.
The echo surged—gentle, relieved.
"This city wasn't built to sit on stone," Aerin said. "It was built to sit on trust."
Kerris blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"These pillars," Aerin continued, voice steadier now, "they don't hold weight. They distribute feeling. Fear, hope, grief—shared so no single place breaks."
Tamsin stared. "So when the Choir started… smoothing things…"
"They interrupted the flow," Maelra finished. "All that pressure went somewhere else."
Above them, the city shuddered again.
A crack echoed, distant but angry.
Kerris rubbed his neck. "So the solution is what. Group therapy for architecture?"
Aerin laughed—short, breathless. "Maybe."
They moved deeper into the chamber. Symbols etched into the floor glowed faintly as Aerin passed—lines not of power, but of connection.
Then footsteps.
Not theirs.
Maelra spun, stone hand raised.
Sereth stepped into the chamber, cloak dusty, eyes sharp.
"You found it," she said. "Of course you did."
Kerris groaned. "Do you ever knock?"
Sereth ignored him, gaze fixed on Aerin. "You're standing on a city's heart."
Aerin swallowed. "They took it apart."
"Yes," Sereth said quietly. "To make it easier to rule."
Tamsin's fists clenched. "They broke it on purpose."
Sereth nodded. "And now it's breaking back."
The hum beneath the floor deepened—steadier now, less frantic.
Maelra exhaled. "Then we can fix it."
Sereth's expression tightened. "Or you can finish breaking it."
Aerin met her gaze. "I don't want power."
Sereth studied them for a long moment.
Then she said, "Good. Power wants you."
A pause.
"I can buy you time," Sereth continued. "But once the Choir realizes what this place is…"
"They'll come," Kerris said. "Singing."
Sereth's mouth twitched. "Screaming, if needed."
Aerin looked around the chamber, the living stone, the memory humming steady and warm.
"It trusted people once," they said. "I think it still does."
Above them, the city cracked again—but this time, not deeper.
Sideways.
Relieving pressure.
Maelra rested her stone hand on the pillar. "Then let's not betray it."
Sereth turned toward the tunnel. "You have one night."
Aerin nodded.
One night to choose whether the city would remember how to hold itself—
—or collapse trying.