The woman didn’t move like someone who feared the dark.
She walked like she owned it.
Cain watched her as he walked, his injured wrist still cradled against his chest. Her hair was neatly pinned, her coat unbuttoned just enough to hint at function over fashion. She passed the stone desk without glancing down at the papers strewn across it and paused just beside a worn armchair that looked like it had been dragged there from another world.
She gestured toward it. “Sit.”
Cain raised a brow. “You gonna buy me dinner first?”
The woman smiled thinly. “No. But if you’re good, I’ll fix your arm.”
He sat.
Lexi remained near the doorway, chains still loose in her hands, her gaze scanning the room warily.
The woman crossed to a nearby cabinet, retrieved a vial and a bandage roll, and set to work with a practiced efficiency that made it clear this wasn’t the first time someone had limped into her care.
She didn’t speak for a while. Cain didn’t either.
The healing potion worked quickly, the pain fading away like a dream.
Finally, she looked up.
“I’m Dr. Mireya Vellin. You can think of me as a liaison, of sorts.”
Cain’s lips twitched. “A doctor as a liaison?”
“It’s a hobby of mine.”
“Right.” He studied her. “So what now? Is this the part where you tell me I passed the test?”
“No,” she said, wrapping the bandage tight. “You passed that in the first fifteen minutes.”
“…What?”
“You’re not here because you’re strong,” she continued. “We’ve got monsters for that. You’re here because we have no idea who you are or where you came from.”
She finished her work and sat across from him, one leg crossed over the other.
“You appeared from nowhere. There’s no record of your entry into the city, no past history that we could find, and no reference or indication that you exist in the world, other than the fact that you’re sitting in front of me.”
“Lucky me,” Cain said flatly. “Must’ve been hard, not finding a single skeleton in my closet.”
Dr. Vellin’s eyes gleamed behind her glasses.
“On the contrary, it’s much more alarming that we can’t even find your closet.”
She steepled her fingers. “Men with clean slates are either liars, ghosts… or weapons someone else forgot to claim. Those with no slates, though? You could’ve been anything.”
He leaned back, testing his newly bandaged wrist. “So what did you decide?”
“It’s not my decision to make,” she said. “Mysteries don’t walk into spider nests unless they’re looking for something.”
He offered a faint smirk. “And what do you think I’m looking for?”
“Leverage,” she said. “Options. Power, maybe. Or just a place to stand when the ground starts shifting.”
She rose, walked slowly toward the curtain she’d emerged from earlier, and stopped with her back to him. “There’s something you should understand about this place. We don’t deal in titles or orders. No assignments. No quests. Just… opportunities.”
Cain’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of opportunities?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached out and touched a panel embedded in the stone wall beside the curtain. A soft hum rose in the silence. Hidden mechanisms clicked. The fabric parted again, revealing a corridor.
At the far end, barely visible, were voices. Movement. Light.
“The people who come here,” she said quietly, “don’t ask for permission. They learn to play the game.”
Cain said nothing.
Dr. Vellin looked over her shoulder. “You were a player the moment you stepped into this place. The only question is whether you’ll be an active participant.”
She turned back toward the hall.
Cain stood. “And I assume nobody will tell me the rules?”
A trace of amusement touched her lips. “Not out loud.”
She started walking. “But if you watch closely, you’ll figure them out.”
Cain watched her go.
Lexi shifted beside him, uncertain. He motioned for her to follow. And then he stepped into the corridor, into the flickering hum of something larger, something layered, something that was certain to be unforgiving and cruel.
Not a dungeon.
Not a guild.
A game.
The corridor opened gradually, stone walls giving way to faintly arched supports and inlaid pillars, each etched with runes so old they’d worn smooth. The ceiling sloped high overhead, webbed with copper pipes and iron chains, some of which hissed gently with passing steam. Lanterns hung from iron hooks, their flames sustained by whispering enchantments that glowed blue-white in the shadows.
It wasn’t a fortress or a sewer.
It was a city.
Not a large one… but it breathed.
Cain slowed as they passed through an archway into a wider chamber. Below them, tiers of stone platforms descended like the steps of a half-buried amphitheater. Rope bridges crisscrossed over a dim, open void. Walkways branched off at sharp angles. Everywhere, people moved, a tangle of black cloaks and leather coats, soft voices and the scent of gossip.
Beneath it all: the low hum of magic, like a tuning fork struck a thousand years ago that still hadn’t stopped ringing.
Lexi took it all in, eyes wide. Her steps stayed close to Cains. Her chains dragged quieter now.
Dr. Vellin didn’t stop to admire the view. She followed a stone walkway to the right, then cut down a staircase tucked behind a low iron arch. Cain and Lexi followed, weaving past figures who barely gave them a glance.
Eventually, they stopped before a door that looked more like a relic than an entrance. The wood was swollen with age, the metal banding dark with wear.
She rapped once.
The door opened outward.
A man leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, a lazy smile curling at the edge of his lips. His straw-colored hair was slightly damp, and he wore a midnight-black shirt, sleeves neatly rolled.
Cain recognized him immediately.
“Cassian?”
The smile widened. “Knew you’d remember.”
Lexi stared, her mouth slightly parted.
“You’re the specialist?” Cain asked flatly.
Cassian stepped back and held the door open. “I’m a specialist. You already know my main line of work; I’m very good at getting my hands on just about anything you might need.”
Dr. Vellin didn’t enter. “I’ll leave you here. He’ll explain the rest, and I’m sure your sponsor will be along soon.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. Her footsteps faded quickly into the hum of the corridor.
Cain stepped inside.
Lexi hesitated, then followed.
The door shut behind them with a soft click.
Cassian’s underground shop wasn’t large, but it was curated. A stone counter curved along one wall, polished to a soft sheen. Behind it, rows of shelves held everything from rolled scrolls and coin pouches to more curious trinkets—an antler crown, a crystal sphere that swirled with smoke, a jar of preserved eyeballs that winked when you looked too long.
It smelled like ink and leather.
Cassian didn’t speak right away. He moved behind the counter, ducked beneath it, and retrieved three ceramic mugs from a wooden crate. Steam rose from one as he set them down.
“Tea?” he offered casually. “Or something stronger?”
Cain raised an eyebrow. “You always keep fresh tea on hand?”
“It keeps the Muricans away,” Cassian replied dryly. “Did you know they heat their tea with fire magic?”
Cain shook his head. “No, but that honestly sounds better than a microwave. What’s the problem?”
Cassian sighed like a man discussing a great cultural tragedy. “Fire magic brings the water to a boil too fast. The leaves steep too quickly. Every educated person knows—tea is best made with a precise application of water magic. It’s a gentle process. It should be controlled. Refined. Elegant.”
Cain rolled his eyes. “God forbid someone drink tea like a normal person.”
Lexi stared at the drink in front of her. “My tribe used a kettle,” she said. “We boiled water over a fire and let the leaves soak. It tasted fine.”
Cassian looked personally offended. “Utter barbarism.”
Lexi’s brow furrowed. “It tastes good. It helped with hunting in cold weather.”
“And that’s lovely,” he said, nodding with exaggerated grace. “But that wasn’t tea. That was leaf juice. Functional, yes, but utterly soulless. Good tea doesn’t just help with the cold. It whispers to your soul and reminds you that you’re still civilized.
She took a dramatic sip and made a face. “I liked our way better.”
Cassian raised his cup in a solemn toast. “To the noble savages and their admirable resilience!”
Cain sighed. “I liked you better when Lila was in the room.”
He raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “She brings out the best in a lot of us. Besides, she’s not here, and now you’re stuck with me. That makes me the favorite by default. Cheers.”
He clinked his ceramic cup against Cain’s with mock ceremony and took a slow sip, letting the silence settle.
Cain waited a beat, then set his mug down on the counter. “We’re not here for tea.”
Cassian lowered his cup and met Cain’s eyes. “I know.”
Lexi’s voice was quiet. “We were told you might be able to help with my slave contract.”
Her fingers brushed the chain links loosely draped over her forearms. The sound they made was soft but heavy.
Cassian looked at her, and something in his expression changed.
“Lila sent you here?”
Cain nodded.
He sighed, then leaned his hip against the counter. “Alright. Let’s talk.
He pulled a worn leather notebook from beneath the counter and flipped it open. Inside, the pages were filled with a combination of tight script, diagrams, and etched sigils.
“There are three kinds of slave contracts,” he began. “Public, private, and personal. The public ones are mass-produced—standard issue, used by markets and transport companies. Cheap to make, easy to trace, easier to break. You don’t have that kind.”
He turned the page, revealing a sketch of an arcane circle with multiple layered sigils.
“The second kind—private contracts—are customized. Commissioned directly by owners. Tailored with clauses and conditions. Those are harder to work around. Not impossible, but expensive.”
He turned the page again, revealing a new sketch with three interwoven circles, each layered with dozens of sigils.
“But what you’ve got? That’s personal. Bound by name, signed with blood, tied to a specific owner, and reinforced with a divine clause. It means you belong to someone very rich and very important.”
Lexi’s eyes flicked toward Cain, uncertain.
“So,” Cain said slowly, “can it be broken?”
Cassian hesitated. “Not without destroying it. And that has… consequences.”
Lexi shifted uncomfortably. “What kind of consequences?”
He closed the book. “It depends on the wording, on the god invoked, and on the blood price. Worst case, it kills you. Best case, it doesn’t. Most likely, even if you survive, the chains will still bind your soul. You’ll have a spiritual scar instead of a shackle.”
Cain’s jaw tensed. “Can it be transferred instead?”
“It can. But the new owner has to overwrite the existing one. It’s a very expensive and painful process, and the current owner will know that you are the one who did it.”
Lexi took a breath. “If I have to have an owner, then… give it to Cain.”
He turned toward her, but she was already speaking again.
“I’m tired of looking over my shoulder. If someone’s going to own the contract, I want it to be someone I trust. You said it yourself—nobody will be able to take my contract away without Cain knowing.”
He didn’t answer right away.
Cassian opened a drawer and pulled out a small, rune-marked box. He placed it between them.
“This contains the ritual matrix. You’ll both need to bleed into it. The transfer requires the recipient’s consent and the new owner’s will. I’ll take the cost from your payment after I move the first round of your merchandise.”
Lexi’s hands clenched. “Fine.”
Cain didn’t move. His gaze lingered on the box like it might bite.
Cassian slid a small obsidian dagger across the table. “One drop each. The matrix will do the rest.”
Cain picked up the dagger, spun it once between his fingers, and met Lexi’s eyes. “You sure?”
She nodded.
He cut first—just below the thumb—and let the blood drip into the bowl-like hollow at the top of the box. The runes flared red.
Lexi followed. Her breath caught when the blade sliced her palm, but she didn’t flinch.
Her blood joined his.
The rune light surged.
Cassian stepped back. “It’s done. Announce your name as the new owner aloud. Clear and distinct so the magic can transcribe it.”
Lexi opened her mouth.
But Cain spoke first.
“Leximea Bloodclaw.”
Lexi blinked.
The box pulsed once, then snapped shut. The chains around her wrists glowed for a moment, and then the glow faded away.
For a long moment, there was silence.
Then Cassian let out a breath. “…Huh.”
Lexi stared at her bare wrists. “Wait. You—Cain, what did you just do?”
Cain flexed his hand, wiping blood on his pants. “Exactly what you asked. The contract’s yours now.”
“You said—” She stopped herself. Her voice shook. “You said you’d take it.”
“No,” he said gently. “I didn’t.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. Her eyes searched his face, looking for something he hadn’t offered. Then she looked away. “But I… what if I get captured again? You won’t know! You won’t be able to save me!”
Cain met her eyes.
“Then don’t get captured.”
She stared at him. The words hit like a slap.
But she didn’t flinch.
Not at the words but at what they meant.
“I’m not strong enough,” she said. It was barely a whisper. “You saw me. I froze.”
Cain smiled. “And then you didn’t.”
She shook her head, eyes glossy. “Because you were dying.”
“Then find something else to fight for next time.”
Lexi’s breath caught. Her chains—still wrapped loosely around her hands—shifted as her fingers clenched. She looked down at the metal links.
“I don’t know who I am without these.”
“Then don’t take them off. You own yourself now. Those chains are a part of you, so make use of them.”
She swallowed. “What if I use them wrong?”
Cain sighed. “Let me guess—you’re afraid of being a bad person?”
Lexi nodded slightly.
“Good,” he said. “That means you aren’t one.”
Cassian, silent until now, cleared his throat softly and gave them both a measured look—equal parts impressed and uncomfortable.
“You two have a lot to unpack,” he muttered and turned away, busying himself with sorting scrolls that probably didn’t need sorting.
Lexi turned and began wrapping the chains around her forearms like makeshift bracers.
Cain watched her in silence.
When she was done, she looked… smaller, somehow.
“I won’t let anyone chain me again,” she said.
Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled.
Cain sighed again. ‘Teenagers…’
The shop door creaked.
Not the old door they’d entered through—but a different one along the back wall. A polished oak door with faint runes inlaid around the frame. Cain hadn’t taken note of it before.
It swung open.
And Lila stepped through.
She looked almost exactly how they’d left her before entering the spider dungeon. Same confident stride, same easy smirk. She looked untouched by dust or blood or the memory of spider legs.
Cain pinched the bridge of his nose. “I figured there was another way down here, but it’s still annoying seeing your face right now.”
“Glad you missed me,” Lila said cheerfully, brushing nonexistent lint off her coat. “Sorry I’m late. Had to grab something from upstairs.”
Cain stared. “Upstairs.”
“Yup.” She tapped the runes on the doorway. “Leads right into Cassian’s shop in Cairel. Convenient, isn’t it?”
Cain’s jaw tightened. “Was all this really necessary?”
Her smile didn’t falter. “Of course it was. Whether you knew it or not, you were knocking on the door of the Underworld. If you can’t crawl through blood to earn a name down here, you don’t belong.”
Cassian didn’t look up from his scrolls. “She’s not wrong.”
Cain exhaled through his nose, then turned away, pacing once to the other side of the room. He didn’t speak, he just pressed his palm to the edge of the counter and looked at Lexi.
She looked like she didn’t know what to feel.
Lila let the silence stretch, then said more gently, “You’re both alive and stronger than you went in. You saw what that girl did to the spider—tell me that trial didn’t bring something out of her.”
Lexi looked down at the chains wrapped around her arms.
“It did,” she said quietly. “But… I don’t like what it brought out.”
Lila walked over, stopped a few feet from Lexi, and looked her in the eye.
“You don’t have to like it,” she said. “You just have to survive long enough to figure out whether it was worth it.”
Cain watched the exchange. Then he pushed off the counter.
“If you send me into a den of spiders again, I’m burning the whole place down.”
Lila raised a brow. “You think you can manage that?”
His eyes were cold. “You think I can’t?”
He turned away, gesturing to Lexi.
“Let’s go.”
They stepped through the open doorway into Cassian’s shop in Cairel. The night hours were waning, and it was almost time to return to the inn to sleep the day away.
As they walked out of his shop onto the streets of Cairel, Lexi pulled on his sleeve to draw his attention.
“Cain, I have a question.”
“Yeah?”
“How did you know my full name?”
“You talk in your sleep.”
“That’s creepy.”
“…Shut up.”
Project Knightfall 