"I wonder what would have happened if the Operating Theatre had gotten their hands on them," Shen mused, watching her reaction carefully. "Not that I'd trust those bureaucrats with anything important." His terminal recorded the conversation, filling gaps in its database with these real-world observations.
The woman's lips curved slightly at his comment about bureaucrats. "Ah, so you're not fond of our esteemed leadership either?" She adjusted one of her pendants. "The Theatre would have used them, of course. Paraded them around like prizes, used their survival to justify whatever policies needed justifying." She shook her head. "Poor souls. To survive something like that only to become political pawns."
Shen noted how her tone shifted when mentioning the Theatre - the kind of subtle disdain that came from personal experience rather than general discontent. His terminal marked the interaction for future reference.
"Although," she continued, absently straightening items on a nearby shelf, "not all of them were eager for the raid. A few Doctors counseled against it. Doctor Salvarose in particular - Daylor Salvarose." She arranged small bottles with precise movements. "They mocked him for his caution. Called him a coward. Now..." She trailed off.
"Now he must be having the last laugh," Shen suggested, probing.
"If he were the type of man to laugh when his opponents' mistakes cost thousands of lives," she replied. "Which he is."
The certainty in her voice made Shen pause. "You sound like you know him well."
"Yes." The word carried weight, hung in the air like the ash outside. Her eyes met his for a moment, and Shen recognized something in them - the look of someone who had seen the machinery behind the curtain and hadn't liked what they'd found.
His terminal marked the exchange with a priority flag. Whatever history lay behind that single word, it mattered.
The woman paused suddenly in the middle of adjusting a jar. "Oh, but how terribly rude of me. Here I am, offering tea and talking politics, and I haven't even asked your names."
They exchanged quick glances before introducing themselves using their borrowed identities. Riley performed a slightly awkward half-bow, still mindful of her Zelion height. "Reveen Brakter."
"Listik," Kayode offered simply.
"Srevan," Alexander added with his natural charm, though something in the woman's amused expression suggested she saw right through it.
"Ardon," Shen said, his fingers still hovering near his terminal.
"Njord," from Surya, who had finally relaxed enough to properly sit on his basket.
Angela looked up from her tea, her voice soft but clear: "Freya."
"Wonderful!" The woman's face lit up with genuine warmth. "It's always such a pleasure to meet new people. So few visitors these days, what with..." she gestured vaguely toward the window where ash continued to fall. "Well, everything."
She set her cup down with sudden decision. "And since you're here, you simply must try my bread. Not that horrid stale stuff they sell in the markets. Real bread, fresh from my own oven." She moved toward what must be a kitchen door. "The secret's in the water, you know. Always is."
As she disappeared into the other room, they could hear her humming - an old tune that seemed to make the bottles on her shelves resonate slightly.
The moment the kitchen door closed, Surya straightened up. "That woman is totally not buying our explanation," he said in a hushed voice. "She one hundred percent knows we're the survivors."
"It's fine," Angela said without opening her eyes, still cradled in her armchair. "We can trust her."
"You've been acting weird all day," Surya pointed out, then added with a slight laugh, "Though I guess it's been a weird day all around." Angela merely shrugged in response, sipping her tea.
Alexander set his cup down carefully, mindful of the delicate instruments surrounding him. "The real question is, how do we move forward from here? We have friends to find and apparently..." he lowered his voice further, "a world to save."
Riley, who had been absently poking at her Axis terminal's display, spoke without looking up. "We need to level up."
"How?" Kayode asked, leaning forward.
"We have to go down," she said. "Hunt the ghosts in the dungeons."
"Spectrals," Shen corrected automatically, his own terminal recording their conversation. "But yes, that seems to be the most efficient path to gaining power. Though Kayode raises a good point - how do we begin raiding dungeons without drawing more unwanted attention?"
"We need to establish a homebase first, using that to ingratiate ourselves into this community, that way we can get a good start" Shen said quietly, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "As kind as our host is, we can't stay here long. She's already risking enough by sheltering us." He looked pointedly at Riley's towering Zelion frame. "And we need somewhere we can blend in, not draw attention."
The kitchen door opened before anyone could respond, bringing with it a wave of warm, yeasty air. The woman emerged carrying a tray laden with plates, each holding thick slices of bread spread with some kind of golden preserve. Steam rose from the bread's perfectly browned surface.
Though Shen's terminal couldn't analyze the food, something deep in his borrowed body's memories recognized this as a rarity. In a world where most sustenance came processed and preserved, where ash fell constantly from the sky, fresh-baked bread was more than food - it was a small miracle.
"Please," she said, distributing the plates, "eat while it's warm. The preserves are from my own garden, though heaven knows it's getting harder to grow anything these days." There was something in the way she mentioned her garden - a slight hesitation, as if she'd said more than she'd meant to.
Riley had to hold her plate carefully between massive red fingers, the delicate china looking almost comically small in her Zelion hands. The bread's aroma filled the crowded room, making the strange collection of bottles and instruments feel suddenly more homely.
Shen watched their host's movements, calculating how to ask about safe havens without revealing too much about their situation. The bread on his plate seemed to mock his caution - who would offer such precious food to people they meant harm?
Shen took a measured breath and decided on directness. "Say, would you know where a group of outlaws might lay low from the authorities while looking for work?"
The woman lowered her cup, steam curling around her face. "There's no need for that. You're welcome to stay here as long as you like." She gestured at the crowded room. "It gets lonesome sometimes, just me and my remedies for company."
The offer was generous - too generous. Shen took a bite of bread to give himself time to think, then stopped. The flavor was extraordinary, nothing like the processed rations his borrowed body's memories knew. Before he realized it, he'd finished the entire slice. He dusted his hands carefully, conscious of the crumbs. "We appreciate the offer, truly. But it might not be safe - for any of us. Though if you wanted to do us a huge favor, you could help us find work. And a place to lay low."
A smile played at the corners of her mouth as she raised her cup again. "What kind of work?" The question carried a knowing tone, as if she'd been waiting for this moment.
"Well," Shen said, watching her carefully, "we're rather fascinated by the raiders. And I hear there are quite a few unburned bodies down in the Undawild. Should fetch good money."
"Ah," she said, lowering her cup. Her eyes sparkled with something like amusement. "But it costs money to make money, doesn't it? And you need to make some money first." She completed his thought so naturally it took him a moment to realize she'd led him exactly where she'd wanted the conversation to go.
The others had gone quiet, watching this exchange. Even Angela had opened her eyes fully, observing with unusual focus.
"There's always work for those willing to venture below," the woman said, setting her cup down with deliberate care. "The ash trade needs strong backs and stronger nerves. Though most who try don't last long enough to earn anything significant."
She stood, moving to a cabinet filled with what looked like maps rolled into tight scrolls. "The real money, of course, comes from knowing where to look. The Undawild isn't just one place - it has layers, territories. Some more profitable than others." Her fingers traced the edge of a scroll but didn't pull it free. "Some more dangerous, too."
"We can handle dangerous," Riley said, her massive frame shifting slightly in her too-small seat.
The woman turned, studying them each in turn. "I'm sure you can. But there's handling danger, and then there's knowing how to work the system." She returned to her chair, adjusting her pendants with practiced precision. "For instance, did you know that certain merchant houses have standing contracts for specific types of ash? The kind that comes from bodies found in particular regions of the Undawild?"
Shen leaned forward slightly. "We hadn't heard that."
"Most haven't. It's not the sort of information that gets shared freely." She smiled, that knowing look returning to her eyes. "Just as most don't know about the old maintenance tunnels that connect to the lesser-used dungeon entrances. The ones the major raiding parties ignore because they seem too small to be worth the effort."
Alexander set his empty plate aside. "That sounds like valuable information."
"It is." She picked up her cup again but didn't drink. "The sort of information I might share with people I trusted. People who might, in return, keep me informed about what they find in those depths. After all, knowledge is its own kind of currency in Sveethlad."
The implications hung in the air like the steam from their cups. She was offering them exactly what they needed - access, information, perhaps even protection. But she wanted something in return, something more than simple payment.
"The thing about the Undawild," the woman said, rising again to move through her crowded space with practiced grace, "is that it holds more than just bodies waiting to be burned." She reached for a jar filled with something that might have been ash but seemed to catch light differently than the gray powder they'd seen outside. "The old tunnels remember things this city has forgotten. And sometimes..." she turned the jar, making its contents shimmer, "sometimes they reveal secrets to those who know how to look."
"What kind of secrets?" Angela asked. It was the first time she'd spoken since the bread was served, and something in her tone made the woman pause.
"The kind that explain why a great raid would be launched despite warnings from those who knew better. The kind that might reveal why some survived when thousands fell." Her eyes met Shen's. "The kind that certain people might find very interesting, if they knew where to look."
Shen kept his face carefully neutral. "And you know where to look?"
"I know many things." She returned the jar to its shelf. "Including how to help a group of... entrepreneurs get started in the ash trade without drawing unwanted attention. There's a building, not far from here - technically abandoned, but the structure is sound. The kind of place people tend to look past, especially if they have reason not to look too closely."
She paused, letting that sink in. "It would need some work, of course. But it has access to those old maintenance tunnels I mentioned. And it's in a district where neighbors don't ask questions. The rent would be reasonable, considering."
"Rent?" Kayode asked.
"Information," she replied simply. "About what you find below. What you see. What you hear." She smiled. "I'm a curious person by nature. And the Undawild has so many stories to tell."