Chapter One Hundred Sixteen: Rot Beneath the Snow

  As they walked, Alice’s voice carried as if the winter air itself hushed to listen.

  “The Stronghold is divided into four concentric districts. The outermost is the Farmer’s Circle—that’s where we are.”

  Fields and lean homesteads huddled beneath a trembling veil of snow.

  “Further inward lies the Commoners Circle, where narrow lanes and cramped houses press close together. Beyond that, the Merchant’s Circle unfurls its busy sprawl of shops and inns, hot bread and iron tools, bargains shared over counters. And at the very heart stands the Inner Circle, all marble facades and crafted archways, crowned by the Tower’s shadow. Nobles dwell there when the games lure them in, and the city’s governance breathes beneath that stone spine.”

  When Alice paused, her companions exchanged glances. Ell narrowed her eyes. “Uh, Alice?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You sound like you’re reading straight out of a book.”

  Alice blinked. “Oh, I am. Well, kind of. I read it in a brochure once, and now I’m just… repeating it.”

  They turned to her, brows raised in collective disbelief.

  “What?” she asked, tilting her head.

  “How do you remember all that? Word for word?” Marcus finally asked.

  A faint smile played on Alice’s lips. “A recent upgrade to my abilities,” she explained. “Anything I read just sort of sticks—perfectly. The memory comes back to me whole, exact, even if I just skimmed it once.”

  Ell raised an eyebrow, Molly let out a slow, impressed breath, and Jace gave a quiet nod.

  They continued along the path and snow crunched beneath their boots. As they ventured deeper, the snug outlines of distant farmhouses blurred and bent like ink spilled into water. As they entered the Common Circle, Jace noticed that the houses were indeed pressed tightly together, huddled like shivering figures seeking warmth. He narrowed his eyes, sensing something quiver at the rim of his vision—an oily shimmer along the rooftops, a twitch in the crisp winter light.

  The Common Circle unfolded before them like something out of a painting.

  Warm golden cobblestones stretched ahead, gleaming softly beneath the winter sun, casting a glow that made the cold feel almost welcoming. The homes lining the street were quaint, beautiful, the kind of picturesque dwellings found in old storybooks. Sloped roofs dusted with snow, neatly painted shutters, and chimneys puffing out thin streams of smoke into the crisp air.

  It was… charming.

  The path they walked now was golden.

  Not metaphorically—literally.

  Jace felt a sense of unease he couldn’t quite place.

  “It’s like walking through a memory,” Alice murmured, her gaze sweeping across the scene.

  “No,” Ell said, her brows drawing together. “A dream.”

  Dex gave an approving nod. “Yeah, well, it’s a nice dream. I’d move in.” He stretched his arms out. “Golden streets, cozy little houses, and I bet they make the kind of bread that just melts in your mouth.”

  Jace wanted to agree. He really did. But something about the place itched at him—a dissonance beneath the pleasant fa?ade that vibrated against his senses like fingers trailing across a mistuned instrument.

  The group trudged through the narrow streets of the Common Circle, their boots crunching against frost-bitten cobblestones that glittered like shattered stars in the thin morning light. Merchants called their wares in singsong chants that rang hollow against the ancient stone buildings. Everything appeared normal, expected.

  Yet the itching beneath his skin deepened, transforming into an urgent pull.

  His Truthsense had never manifested quite like this before. Usually, it unfolded like a whispered revelation, a gentle nudge toward clarity. This was different—raw and demanding, a hook lodged between his ribs that yanked his attention toward the periphery of his vision.

  Jace halted mid-stride, his companions’ voices fading to a distant murmur as his awareness narrowed to a single point: a hidden path between two buildings pressed so tightly together they appeared to be whispering secrets to one another. The golden cobblestones of the main thoroughfare ended abruptly, surrendering to a narrower trail dusted with something that wasn’t quite dirt, wasn’t quite shadow.

  The air beyond that threshold hung thicker, heavier—the charged stillness before lightning claims the sky. And there, weaving through it like a golden thread through darkest cloth: a shimmer that traced the contours of the hidden alleyway, beckoning with wordless insistence.

  Not an invitation. A demand.

  The world around him—the bustling market, his waiting companions, the familiar feel of his cloak—all receded as the golden shimmer pulsed once, twice, a heartbeat not his own calling him forward into whatever truth waited unseen.

  “Uh, Jace?” Alice asked, stepping up beside him.

  He didn’t answer right away, eyes locked on the shimmering golden path curling away from the main street like a beckoning hand.

  “Shortcut, maybe?” Dex offered with a shrug, already angling toward the alley.

  Marcus scoffed. “Or a trap.”

  Jace rubbed his temple. The hum in his skull didn’t feel like danger—not exactly. But it was different. More forceful. More… urgent.

  “It wants me to go that way,” Jace muttered.

  Ell frowned. “Wants you to?”

  Jace exhaled sharply. “Truthsense. It’s not giving me details, just… pushing.”

  Marcus let out a low groan. “Great. Love that. Love a good cryptic pull toward an ominous side street.”

  Jace turned to look at the others, searching their faces. He could ignore it. He should ignore it. But the golden shimmer pulsed, waiting.

  “Whatever’s over there,” Jace said finally, “it’s not lying to me.”

  He took a step off the main road.

  And, one by one, the others followed.

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  As they ventured deeper, the world around them quivered, the golden glow on the walls and streets rippling like oil on water.

  Then—it cracked.

  A pulse throbbed inside Jace’s skull, sharp and insistent. The air itself seemed to fracture, a barely perceptible shudder passing through reality.

  Then came the text.

  System Notification

  Word of Power Activated—Truth.

  Illusion Broken: Glamor

  The golden warmth bled away like ink washing off a canvas, revealing the truth beneath.

  In that instant, the painted picture of prosperity peeled back. Snow-laden eaves sagged, shingles stripped of their neat illusions. Pale fences, once sharp and white, showed rot and splintered boards. Doors hung crooked, their hinges rusted. The scent of damp wood and stale wind replaced the imagined coziness, pressing against his senses. The narrow path spilled out onto a mud-choked, battered road, its surface slick with grime and stagnant puddles. The stench of rot clung to the air, thick and heavy, curling into their lungs like something that had been left to fester.

  “Um, guys?” Jace spoke low, almost a hush. He reached out, not quite touching the warped planks of a nearby wall. His companions turned, confusion knitting their brows until they too flinched, as though waking from a sweet dream into a sour dawn. Molly’s mouth set in a grim line. Dex stiffened, shoulders tight. Marcus let a bitter grunt slip past his teeth, mumbling about how it’s always the same: a polished front masking a rotten core.

  A movement at the corner of Jace’s eye drew him closer—a window, its glass smeared with grime. Behind it hovered a small face, eyes large and hollow, cheeks grayed with soot and hunger. The child trembled, breath steaming the pane. Molly inhaled sharply. Jace opened his mouth, but the words caught—tangled and stuck in his throat.

  Alice stepped forward, shoulders squared against the chill. She knocked lightly, the sound too hollow, as if knocking on an old coffin. Inside, silence churned. Marcus shifted his weight, impatient and distant. Alice knocked again. A second’s pause, then the door cracked open just enough to reveal stale darkness beyond.

  The boy’s face hovered in the gloom, eyes hollow with hunger, his skin pale and smudged with grime. The stale air drifting from the doorway smelled of damp rot and old straw, wrapping around them like a faint plea for help. Alice knelt, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she feared even the smallest gesture might frighten him back into the shadows.

  “Hello, little one,” she said softly, careful not to disturb the fragile silence.

  The boy didn’t answer, only shrank back slightly, his thin frame trembling. His eyes darted toward the street beyond them, wary of unseen watchers. When Alice asked if his parents were home, he shook his head, the movement quick and mechanical, as if it had been repeated many times. There were no tears—just a quiet resignation that spoke of lessons learned too young, that tears didn’t bring warmth, comfort, or safety.

  “It’s okay,” Alice said gently. “Are you cold?”

  The boy finally spoke, his words brittle and thin. “I’m not supposed to talk to outsiders,” he said, his hands curling into fists against the tattered fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—“

  “It’s alright,” Alice interrupted softly, her tone soothing. “Who told you that?”

  The boy hesitated, then shook his head again. The weight of his silence hung heavier than any words could have.

  Behind her, Ell stepped forward, slipping off her coat. Its inner lining caught the light, faint runes etched along the seams glowing softly, promising the warmth it carried. She held it out toward the boy, who eyed it like a forbidden relic. His hands twitched at his sides, but he made no move to take it.

  “It’s for you,” Ell said firmly, nudging it closer. “It’ll keep you warm.”

  “I can’t,” he murmured, shrinking back. “I’ll get in trouble.”

  “You won’t,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Take it. Please. If you don’t, I’ll feel insulted.”

  He studied her then and seemed to weigh each impossible option in his mind. Finally, he reached out, his fingers hesitant as they brushed the fabric. He clutched the oversized coat tightly to his chest, his face tilting down as if to hide from their kindness.

  Jace’s gaze lingered on the shadows beyond the boy, where another pair of eyes glimmered faintly in the dim light. Smaller, rounder—likely a little sister, watching silently from the deeper gloom of the house.

  Before he could retreat further, Jace stepped forward, reaching into his “absolutely-not-a-fanny-pack” dimensional inventory. He pulled out a small crate of food, carefully packaged. The scents of warm bread, spiced meat, and sweet pastries filled the air as he set it on the ground between them.

  “This is for you too,” Jace said. “It’s enough to last several days.”

  The boy froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. “I can’t take that,” he stammered, stepping back. “It’s… it’s too much.”

  “Not just for you. Share with your family and friends.”

  Something in Jace’s tone broke through the boy’s resistance. He hesitated, then reached for the first package, tearing it open with trembling hands. He took a bite and froze, his eyes lighting up with wonder. “This… this tastes like royalty food.” He looked up at them, his gaze filled with cautious awe. “Are you princes? Princesses?”

  Alice knelt again, a faint smile on her lips. “No, just visiting the town for the Games.”

  The boy looked down, his small hands clutching the food tightly.

  “Are there others like you? Cold? Hungry?” Ell asked.

  “Yes,” he whispered, barely audible. “But they won’t talk to you. They… we’re not supposed to… not supposed to talk to outsiders.” His voice dropped lower, his gaze darting nervously to the street. “If they find out… if she finds out…“ He trailed off, his face tight with fear.

  “She?” Alice pressed gently. “Who is she?”

  The boy shook his head, refusing to answer. He stepped back toward the door, his movements quick and skittish. “Thank you,” he said, just above a whisper. “Please, don’t tell anyone I spoke to you. Outsiders are dangerous. That’s what she says. That’s what they all say.”

  “Who said that?” Ell asked, calm but firm.

  The boy glanced at her, his mouth opening as if to speak, but then he seemed to think better of it. “I… I have to go. Please.”

  Before they could say another word, he slipped back inside, clutching the coat and food to his chest like fragile treasures. The door creaked shut, the soft click of the latch the only sound in the stillness. It felt impossibly thin, that door, separating their world from his. For a long moment, none of them spoke.

  Snow swirled around them, the flurries filling the silence with a soft, insistent white noise. From somewhere in the distance came a faint sound—a shout or perhaps a cry—drifting through the maze of alleyways, too far away to place. Molly’s lips trembled before she set them firm, her usually calm demeanor showing cracks of unease. Marcus stared at the crooked rooftops.

  Jace’s hand hovered near the door, fingers brushing the cold wood as though contemplating a second knock. The child’s face lingered in his mind, etched with the kind of fear and resignation he thought he’d left behind when he escaped his own fractured world. The scene stirred something deep within him—a memory of himself as a boy, in a place where famine and poverty were everyday realities. He had hoped Terra Mythica would be different. He had believed it would be different. But he knew better now. Every world had its players, its systems, its flaws.

  Still, this felt… wrong. He couldn’t settle it in his mind. Back on Earth, they had explanations. The War. The radiation dust killing the crops. A thousand other reasons to point to. But here? Magic flowed freely, abundant and powerful. Food should have been plentiful. Warmth easy to conjure. The boy’s parents—where were they? Why weren’t they able to care for him and his sister?

  He and his friends exchanged a silent look, the weight of what they had seen settling heavily between them. No words were needed; in that shared glance, Jace knew they had all made the same decision—something had to be done. Even Dex, usually the first to deflect with an easy quip, had a strange, pained look in his eyes—his usual confidence cracked. Whatever was happening here, it wouldn’t be ignored.

  Jace’s stomach churned as the realization solidified. Something was rotten beneath the surface of this town, hidden behind its glamor and illusions. Whatever it was, it wasn’t natural. It wasn’t right. He decided then and there, staring at the closed door, that he wouldn’t let it go. Something was happening here, and he would find out what.

  They turned inward, eyes drawn to the heart of the Stronghold where towers speared the sky.

  Something old and hungry pulsed beneath these streets, beyond illusions and the polite veneers of civility. The quiet that followed the discovery of the boy’s plight pressed on them, laden with unspoken questions. Far ahead, beyond the city’s concentric circles, darker trials waited, coiled like serpents ready to strike at the unwary. As they walked on, the wind whispered an unsettling truth: something had to be done.

  Their boots scuffed against the uneven cobblestones, sending thin flakes of old snow spiraling into crooked gutters. Without the illusion’s soothing hush, the Common Circle revealed its raw edges: sagging doorframes, shutters hanging on a single hinge, and footprints etched deep into grime. Behind dirt-streaked windows, eyes gleamed with silent curiosity. A trembling hand hovered at a pane’s edge before vanishing into shadow. Jace’s ears caught the faint rasp of coughing, the hushed whispers scurrying away like frightened mice. His chest tightened.

  “How can anyone live like this?” he said quietly, as if afraid the city’s wounds might hear him. “Where are their parents? Their king?”

  “The city has no king,” Alice replied softly, her tone threaded with restraint. “Not since the fall. It’s ruled by a Regent—a man named Koren Klaventaire. A commoner, chosen precisely for his lack of allegiance to any kingdom. He’s held power since the Stronghold was reclaimed from the Dark One and the Tower was taken back.”

  The group exchanged uneasy glances.

  Jace shook his head. “He’s not doing a very good job. Does he even know people are starving under his rule?”

  No one answered.