The stone passages beneath Aurelia were never built for welcome.

  They were tunnels carved in secrecy, soaked in centuries of blood, soot, and trade. Here, no one asked questions. Money spoke louder than loyalty, and metal always found its way from hand to hand—even if those hands were covered in dirt, blood, or worse.

  And now, into this realm of shadow, stumbled a prince who no longer had a home.

  ---

  Karl had stopped trying to make sense of it.

  His breath came in short bursts as he followed the players through narrow passageways, past torchlit corridors that smelled of damp cloth and coal smoke. Behind them, the upper world burned with alarms and accusations. Above them, the city bristled with search orders and bounty proclamations.

  “Keep your head down,” one of the players said. “You’ve got the main character debuff now.”

  Karl didn’t even argue.

  He was tired.

  Tired of running. Tired of trying to explain. Tired of pretending things would return to normal.

  ---

  They reached the edge of the Blackvein Bazaar.

  The underground market was in chaos.

  Merchants were packing crates. Smugglers shoved goods into false-bottom carts. Someone yelled about rising prices. Someone else fired a warning shot into the ceiling.

  In the midst of it all, players were helping themselves.

  A few, under the guise of “NPC distraction,” had already looted two crates of old jewelry and broken silver. Another had fished out a pouch of raw gold flakes from an abandoned alchemist’s chest.

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  “Emergency currency,” one said. “For resupplies.”

  Karl didn’t even blink.

  He walked past a smoldering torch and sat down on a barrel.

  “This is insane,” he muttered.

  A nearby player clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the resistance.”

  ---

  It was there, in the flickering half-light of the underworld, that Karl finally allowed himself to believe what he had been avoiding.

  There was no going back.

  No returning to the palace. No explaining to the Emperor. No reasoning with Alven. The Empire had chosen a side—and it wasn’t his.

  Even if he surrendered now, they’d still kill him. He wasn’t a prince anymore.

  He was a threat.

  ---

  One of the players found an old map painted onto a wine barrel lid. It showed the Blackvein River—a narrow, winding current that passed through the edge of the underground market and exited the city through a crumbled sewer sluice.

  “Here,” he said. “It connects to the southern tributary. We can ride it out and reach the countryside.”

  Karl frowned. “You want to escape... through the sewers?”

  The player grinned. “You’ve never played a stealth game, have you?”

  ---

  They moved fast.

  In less than an hour, the group had gathered two flat-bottom cargo rafts, stolen paddles, a stack of moldy blankets, and three half-cracked crates of food.

  A few players kept watch with makeshift weapons.

  One had rigged a tripwire alarm using a broken bell and a string of bones.

  Another stuffed stolen silverware into a pouch.

  “Loot and scoot,” he said proudly.

  Karl just nodded.

  He finally turned to the group.

  “Where do we go once we’re out?” he asked.

  The old soldier shrugged. “Wherever the Empire isn’t.”

  Someone else muttered, “West. Toward the mountains. Or the coast.”

  Another added, “We’ll figure it out.”

  And for the first time, Karl didn’t argue.

  ---

  They launched just before sunrise.

  The river smelled of ash and mold. The walls sweated with condensation. The city above still slept—uneasy, bloodied, but unaware that its prey had slipped below.

  Karl crouched in the raft’s center, hood pulled low, arms tucked into his coat.

  He watched the torchlight fade behind them as they drifted into darkness.

  ---

  Above them, the Ravens found the first clue too late.

  A broken crate. A blood smear. A missing cart.

  “Couldn’t have gone far,” one said.

  But Maldran shook his head.

  “They’re gone.”

  “Where?”

  “Underground.”

  He turned toward the shadows and muttered, “And they won’t stop running.”

  ---

  The city of Aurelia kept shining above.

  But beneath its golden towers, the revolution had begun.

  With a prince.

  And fifteen madmen.

  In a stolen boat.