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The tunnels were nothing like the polished efficiency of the FootPaths. They were dark, damp, and stretched far deeper than I’d imagined possible. But this was what the Wilds were known for: their underground existence.

Tavin led while Sera remained behind, claiming someone had to watch the upper ruins in case Riders returned and tracked up to the tunnels. The passageways twisted through the mountain in smooth spirals and narrow cuts where underground rivers rushed black and cold beneath ancient bridges. The air was heavy and stale. How did people live happily without the sun?

After some hours, we passed a few homes carved into the rock, but as we descended, the signs of life thickened. Voices echoed faintly through the tunnels. Light spilled from doorways. Children darted between corridors carrying baskets of moss-fruit, eggs, and bundles of dried herbs.

An entire world hidden beneath the feet of a kingdom. It was really quite genius. The city had been built into the bottom of a narrow ravine, but the winter sun sent shards of light bouncing off mirrors, and snowflakes fluttered in the air.

It was illuminated and full of life. People stood in doorways, chatting; three six-year-olds in overalls carelessly flung themselves around the stone walk, and a cat sunned itself next to the mirror. There wasn’t a uniform in sight.

The air tasted like freedom, even if it was a little damp.

But then the atmosphere changed. The old man sitting outside his workshop sewing leather had paused, and his gaze fixed on the small slash of blue sky. A distant phoenix’s cry made him shudder. A woman carrying a small baby hurried her steps. An old woman further along tilted her ear upwards, listening for wingbeats.

In Annatalia, children had whooped and waved as a Rider flew past—even on Yule, when the rogues were crazed and feared, they were still revered. But not in here. Here, there was only fear.

The deeper we went, the warmer the air became, until moisture gathered against my throat and curls. Blue-painted symbols decorated sections of the walls—Earthworld witches’ prayers for protection and safe passage. I could never have imagined this. That the Wilds were like the Ruckus, that the people here were Earthworlders and worshipped that magic. I had believed they worshipped the Sky.

The next row of symbols was bright and glistening green. The Yule symbols.

“You’ve been here long?” I asked.

Tavin snorted softly. “Long enough to stop counting.”

“And no one in the Barren Lands or Northlands knows?”

“They know.” His expression darkened. “But these lands are difficult to hold. Their rulers are erratic and don’t play well with others. It is easier to pretend we aren’t here. Pretend that there is no escaping their rule.”

One tunnel widened into another, and then another, until we emerged onto a stone platform overlooking a ravine so enormous that I stumbled to a stop. Leaning forward, I tried to take it all in. To fix it in my mind like a painting. To remind myself on dark nights that there was still beauty in the world—that there was still awe and wonder. That there was still creation without first destroying what came before it.

The smaller caves had given way to polished stone houses built into either side of the ravine, with bridges and pulley systems between the two. Thousands upon thousands of lanterns glowed from the houses and walkways, lighting up the dark rock like stardust.

They hung from bridges carved directly into the ravine walls and reflected against underground streams that cut silver paths through the city below. Homes climbed the rock face in layered terraces linked by stairs and rope lifts. Market stalls clustered around a huge platform and central fires where smoke curled upward.

It was like nothing I had ever seen before. “And everyone lives here together?” I didn’t hide the surprise in my voice.

He rubbed his beard. “We lost good people when we fled the armies. We weren’t going to work for them Barrens. The ones captured were killed. There were whispers. A Shadow, no more than a kid, told us of a place by the temple…”

Aster. Just as he had told me about this place when I had most needed it, he had told these people before. Years ago, when he was eighteen, he was still insightful enough to know what was to come, and where safety could be found. My heart tightened, and I bit down on my tongue, trying to erase him from my thoughts. Trying to lock away the ache. I forced myself to keep walking.

“How did you cross? Most die trying,” he asked.

It was a question that I hadn’t expected. “Probably best you don’t know. What with my current… path.”

He gave me one long, lingering look, as if he were deciding if I were to be trusted, and then stepped onto a long rope bridge that crossed the ravine. “Keep your hood up from now on.” He took one step and turned back. “And tell them you came over with the grain wagons.” And then he walked on.

The market itself was loud in the frantic way starving places often were. Traders argued over dried meat and stolen medicine, while runners slipped through the crowd, exchanging folded notes and coin. A blacksmith hammered quietly in one corner, sparks bursting gold against the stone.

This wasn’t a hidden paradise. It was a refuge on the edge of the world. Tavin guided me toward a narrow tea stall built beneath an old archway. An old woman sat behind it, sorting dried herbs and flowers into neat piles.

“You hear anything?” Tavin asked, sitting down and motioning for me to do the same.

“Hear too much. See too much.” Her fingers never paused. “Depends…” Her gaze scanned me as I sat on the small, well-worn stool next to Tavin.

His mouth flattened, and he handed over a bag with three rabbits inside it he had been carrying. “This girl.”

She tilted her head so she could see under my hood, and her pale eyes, beneath thick grey brows, focused on me. She hissed.

“Ah,” she murmured. “Violet eyes. White hair. Long time since anyone saw that sort of curse. What did you do, girl? Where have you been?”