The "Threshold" was a series of massive, lead-lined airlocks that separated the humid life of the city from the stagnant death of the world above. Kael waited for a shift change, blending into the shadows of a ventilation shaft.
He closed his eyes, initiating the Hollow Pulse.
The vibrant heat of his Prauna retreated, sinking into his bones until his skin took on the waxy, pale sheen of a week-old corpse. His heart slowed to a ghostly rhythm. When he stepped into the path of the gate's motion sensors, they didn't even click. To the machinery, he was as inanimate as the concrete walls.
He slipped through the final hatch just as it groaned shut.
The surface air was cold and tasted of ash. Kael stood in the ruins of a subway plaza, surrounded by dozens of zombies. They were "Hollows"—the lowest tier of the undead. Normally, they would ignore an Awakener unless provoked, but the pressure of a human's life force often made them restless.
Now, as Kael walked through the crowd, they didn't even turn their heads. One zombie's shoulder brushed his; it felt like cold, leathery parchment. It continued its aimless shuffle, completely unaware that a living heart was beating inches away.
It's working, Kael thought, his mind feeling heavy and slow in this suppressed state. I'm a ghost among the dead.
He moved toward the "Old Quarter," where the skeletal remains of a university library stood. If the Sovereign's vision was true, the techniques for the Bronze Realm and beyond weren't just lost—they were hidden in plain sight, protected by the very monsters that ruled the heights.
As he crossed an open intersection, a sudden tremor shook the ground.
Kael froze, his pulse threatening to spike. From the top of a collapsed skyscraper, a Level 3 Calamity Monster—a winged, skeletal raptor with four eyes—screamed. The sound was a sonic ripple that shattered the windows of the surrounding buildings.
The raptor dived, its wings cutting through the smog like obsidian blades. It landed in the center of the street, barely ten feet from Kael.
The beast's four eyes scanned the area. It looked directly at a group of zombies, its nostrils flared, searching for the "scent" of a soul. It shoved a zombie aside with its talons, the creature's ribs snapping with a sickening crunch.
Kael kept his head down, his Prauna locked in his marrow. He was a stone. He was dust.
The raptor's gaze lingered on him for a terrifying second. It leaned in, its hot, sulfurous breath washing over Kael's face. It sniffed his neck, its beak clicking inches from his jugular.
Then, with a huff of boredom, the monster turned away. It gave the "corpse" a disinterested shove and leaped back into the sky, its massive wings kicking up a cloud of grey soot.
Kael waited until the screech faded into the distance before he allowed a single, shallow breath.
He turned toward the library, but as he moved, he realized he wasn't alone in the shadows. One of the zombies—a tall, gaunt figure in the remnants of a suit—hadn't moved since the raptor landed. Unlike the others, its milky eyes weren't aimless.
They were fixed directly on Kael.
It wasn't attacking. It was observing. When Kael took a step, the zombie took a step. It moved with a fluid, haunting grace that no "Hollow" should possess.
A scout, Kael's intuition screamed.
The Zombie Ancestor was watching.