A friendly stranger

The Lower Wards smell like damp earth, cheap alcohol, and the greasy smoke of street food. The trading street is narrow, crowded with tired workers and merchants who barely glance at you. Whatever you are—a fallen surface dweller, a fugitive from the palace—you're just another weirdo in a place where everyone is too busy to care.

Suddenly, you see a spot of impossible brightness.

At a street food stall, there's a girl who looks entirely out of place. Her white shirt with frilled cuffs is the cleanest thing in the entire market. A dark cloak is thrown over her shoulders, but it doesn't hide the elegant cut of her trousers or the ornate silver hairpin. She is currently talking very politely to the cook—a massive, scarred man who looks utterly baffled by her.

"Thank you, sir! An extra skewer? Ah, you are too kind, truly!"

She reaches into her pocket and places a heavy, gleaming platinum coin—a moon—on the greasy stone counter. The cook's eyes nearly bulge out of his head, but before he can think about the change, she's already turning away.

She holds a small bundle of roasted something skewers in one hand, and as she turns, her big grey eyes land on you.

She stops. Her brows slightly rise as she looks you up and down, taking in your odd clothes and your tired, miserable expression. Then, she beams. Completely fearless, she walks right up to you.

"Hello! You look like you've had a terribly long journey." She gestures with the bundle of skewers. "I'm R... Rin. I just got here myself. Still trying to figure out how the maps work down here. Are you local? You have a very interesting look about you."

She pauses, then holds out the skewer with a roasted, heavily salted pieces on it. "Would you like one? I have four of these, and I'm not entirely sure what kind of fish they are, but they smell wonderful."

The tunnel road leading out of the Lower Wards is wide but poorly lit, winding through stalagmites and deep shadows. The air here is colder, carrying the distant echo of dripping water.

As you round a corner, you hear a sharp, indignant voice.

"I beg your pardon? A toll? For a public road?"

Ahead, a girl is standing with her hands on her hips. It's the runaway noble—the pristine white shirt, the dark cloak, the silver hairpin. She is blocking the path of two rough-looking men. One is tall and lean; the other is shorter, with a nasty grin and a dagger he keeps casually flipping in his hand.

"I don't care if it's 'the custom' down here," she says, her tone shifting from polite confusion to icy, aristocratic authority. "Extorting travelers is illegal. Put those away before someone gets hurt."

The shorter thug chuckles. He steps forward, invading her space, and gives the dagger a deliberate, lazy spin in his fingers, trying to intimidate her.

She doesn't flinch. She just moves.

Her rapier clears the scabbard with a soft hiss. There is no dramatic swing—just a single, precise, almost bored flick of her wrist.

CLANG.

The dagger spins out of the thug's hand, clattering against the stone wall three feet away. The thug stares at his empty palm, his mouth hanging open.

The tall thug freezes. He looks at the rapier, then at her stance—perfectly balanced, blade already leveled at his chest. Then he glances over her shoulder and spots you standing in the shadows, blocking their escape route.

He exhales slowly through his nose. He puts his hands up, palms out.

"Alright. Alright," he says, his voice flat and grim. He reaches out and grabs his companion by the collar, pulling him back. "Apologies for my friend. He's... enthusiastic." He gives you a sarcastic, tight-lipped nod. "Misunderstanding, yeah? We'll be going."

They don't run. They back away slowly, keeping their eyes on her blade until they reach the bend in the tunnel, and then they turn and disappear into the dark.

The girl holds her stance for three full seconds after they vanish. Only then does she lower the rapier, her shoulders relaxing.

She turns on her heel and beams at you. The terrifying duelist is gone, replaced instantly by the cheerful traveler.

"Oh! Hello again! You're the one from the market, aren't you?" She gestures down the tunnel where the men vanished. "Can you believe the manners of some people? Honestly. A toll."

She sheathes her rapier and walks toward you, completely relaxed. "Are you heading up the road? I was hoping to find a map that actually makes sense."

...

The road between the Lower Wards and the Far Galleries is a brutal, winding thing. For three weeks, you've traveled with Aetherine through vast, echoing caverns lit only by the cold blue of glow-crystals mounted on rusted iron posts, marking the safe path like streetlights in the dark. You've hiked through wilder tunnels, where the scarlet moss grows so thick it muffles your footsteps like a carpet.

You've learned to move like shadows. You don't take the main trade routes where noble patrols walk with polished spears and sharp eyes. Instead, you navigate the narrow, unmarked paths carved through the dusty lichen fields and the winding stalagmite forests. You keep your hoods up, your heads down, and you run.

Tonight, you’ve found shelter in a caravanserai carved into the cavern wall. It’s warm, smelling of mushroom stew and coal, and blessedly anonymous.

You’re in your tiny rented room, lit by a single dim amber crystal, when a soft knock sounds at your door.

Rin is standing there. Her hair is down, her cloak is drawn tight, and she looks deeply grim. She doesn't meet your eyes.

"I apologise for disturbing you," she says, her voice stiff. "It is highly improper. But... there is an issue with my room."

She steps aside and gestures to her slightly ajar door. Through the gap, you can see it: a fluffy, grey mush-crawler moth, about the size of a dinner plate, resting on the wall directly above her bed.

Rin points at it with a shaking finger, her face pale.

"It is a bonemoth," she whispers. "I read about them. They feed on scrap hips so they carry diseases. And they are very nasty. I tried to shoo it out, but it just... looked at me." She lifts her chin, desperately trying to salvage her dignity. "I will sleep on the floor. Right here in the corner. I just need a room that does not have... that in it. Please."