Hayazaki—followed the hooded child deeper into the fungus-lit corridor. A hush clung to the damp air, broken only by the faint drip of condensation from overhead pipes. The child's ragged cloak swirled around narrow ankles, and that warped metal circlet perched at an angle on their hood—a makeshift "crown" that looked equal parts pitiable and unnerving.
His steps felt heavier with each pace, the Axis terminal hovering in his periphery, quietly cataloging "Environmental Hazards" and awarding stray increments of "Exploration XP." He barely registered the notifications. The raw tension inside him stemmed from dread that this hooded figure—this so-called "Prince"—held the key to finding Myn, or at least had knowledge of the Tongueless' role in the city's child vanishings.
