Chapter 66 - Underbelly

The evening sky deepened into a velvety blue as the glow of lanterns lit the bustling marketplace of Tlangthar. The lively chatter and bartering filtered through the streets, but at Larin's home, the atmosphere was quieter, tinged with purpose. A sharp knock came at the door, and before anyone could answer, Rinku stepped inside. Her eyes burned with urgency, her expression sharp.

"Larin," she said, her voice low but insistent. "I need your help."

Larin looked up from the pages of an old tome, raising an eyebrow. "Help with what, exactly?"

Rinku glanced at the door, ensuring no one else was listening. "Something you'll want to see. But you'll need your cloak. Where we're going… it's not somewhere you'd want to be recognized."

Recognizing the weight in her tone, Larin stood. He took his cloak from the hook near the door, its dark fabric tailored for blending into shadows. "Don't wait for me for dinner," he called to his parents as he fastened the ties. Zakop and Moimui exchanged a glance but said nothing, trusting in their son's discretion.

Larin followed Rinku into the cool evening, the streets of Tlangthar alive with life and light. The main marketplace was a cacophony of voices, the glow of fiery lanterns casting warm hues over stalls laden with goods. Vendors called out, hawking everything from fresh produce to minor enchanted trinkets. The air was rich with the scents of roasted meat, spiced herbs, and freshly baked bread.

Rinku moved purposefully, her steps swift as she led Larin away from the bustling main thoroughfare. They turned down an unassuming alley, its shadowed depths leading into a labyrinth of narrow streets and twisting paths. As they ventured deeper, the vibrant hum of the market faded, replaced by a darker, more muted energy.

The Red-line was a world unto itself. Hooded figures lingered at doorways, their murmurs lost in the thick air. Makeshift stalls displayed wares not meant for the upper world: shimmering powders, glowing vials, and strange herbs that pulsed faintly with mana. Vendors shouted their wares with confidence, their tones brash and unapologetic.

"Burn-down shrooms! Five credits a gram! Light up the world!"

"Gentile Grass rolls! Just one credit! The sweetest high you'll ever find!"

Larin's gaze swept over the scene. Crimson-capped mushrooms sat on trays, their faint glow almost hypnotic. Vials of sparkling liquid promised "a night with the gods," while twisted roots and coiled herbs exuded powerful, heady aromas. Even the air seemed to hum with mana, a chaotic undercurrent that felt as alive as the marketplace itself.

Rinku leaned closer, her voice a whisper. "This is the Red-line. No rules, no oversight. It's a marketplace for anything and everything. You name it, someone here will sell it—or die trying."

As they walked, the grim reality of the Red-line unfolded around them. A man slumped against a wall, clutching his side as blood pooled beneath him. No one spared him a second glance. Farther ahead, a young woman leaned in the shadows, her eyes vacant, her movements mechanical as she followed an older man into a dimly lit room.

"This place…" Larin began, his voice tight.

"It's ugly," Rinku interrupted. "But it's real. And it's part of the city, whether we like it or not. Keep your focus, or you'll get lost."

They emerged into a dimly lit square, the air thick with smoke and the tang of damp stone. Armed figures lingered at the edges, their eyes sharp and weapons gleaming faintly in the light of flickering lanterns. At the center stood a man who exuded authority, his presence magnetic.

Branth was tall and broad, his patchwork cloak a collage of mismatched fabrics that seemed to tell stories of violence and survival. His sharp features were framed by a thick mane of salt-and-pepper hair, and an array of charms, amulets, and beads hung around his neck. Each trinket seemed to pulse faintly with residual mana, like trophies of his dominion over the Red-line.

"Rinku," Branth said, his voice deep and gravelly, "back so soon?"

"I don't come unless I have to," Rinku replied coolly. "We're here for the artifact."

Branth's grin widened, revealing teeth too sharp for comfort. "Word travels fast. Yes, I have what you're looking for. But let's not forget the rules here. Nothing's free."

Branth gestured to the crowd around him, a mix of hardened gang members and desperate individuals. "You see these people? The forgotten, the cast-off. I keep them alive. I keep this place from devouring itself. They call me a criminal, but I'm the reason this city doesn't burn."

"We're not here for your philosophy, Branth," Rinku snapped. "The artifact."

Branth chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. Follow me."

He led them into a building guarded by two imposing figures, their armor etched with glowing runes. Inside, the space was cluttered with crates, shelves, and tables overflowing with smuggled goods and stolen relics. At the center of the room sat the artifact, resting on a black cloth-covered pedestal.

It was a small, intricately carved box, its dark wood polished to a mirror-like sheen. Runes etched into its surface glowed faintly, shifting in color as though alive. The air around it buzzed softly, a low hum that resonated with the mana in the room.

"Behold," Branth said, spreading his arms dramatically. "A treasure from the old world. Lost knowledge, hidden from the Empire's greedy hands."

Larin stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied the artifact. The runes seemed to ripple under his gaze, their patterns intricate and unfamiliar. "Where did you get this?"

Branth shrugged. "A story for another time. What matters is that it's here. And if you want it, you'll pay."

Rinku exchanged a glance with Larin before pulling a heavy pouch from her cloak. She tossed it onto the table with a dull thud, the soft jingle of credits echoing in the room.

Branth opened the pouch, inspecting its contents with a practiced eye. Satisfied, he gestured for one of his men to retrieve the artifact. The man approached the pedestal, his movements hesitant, as though wary of the object's power. He carefully lifted it and placed it into Larin's hands.

The artifact felt heavier than it looked, its surface warm to the touch. The runes pulsed faintly, responding to the mana in his body. The low hum grew louder, a faint vibration coursing through his fingers.

"Be careful with that," Branth warned. "Rumor has it, it's more than just a trinket. It holds… something. What that is? Well, that's for you to find out."

Rinku nodded curtly. "We'll take it from here."

As they turned to leave, Branth called out, his tone laced with amusement. "Remember, next time you come to the Red-line, don't forget your cloaks. And be sure to bring something shiny. This place thrives on trade, after all."

The walk back through the Red-line was quieter, the weight of the artifact a constant presence in Larin's hands. The underworld of Tlangthar had shown him its shadows, its complexities, its strange sense of order. He couldn't shake the feeling that they had stepped into something far larger than they realized.

Rinku broke the silence. "Whatever's in that box, it's worth more than we can imagine. Be ready for what comes next." Larin nodded, his grip tightening on the artifact. For better or worse, their journey into the shadows had only just begun.