Chapter 14: Chapter 13 - Deception Upon Deception

They stood on parched, cracked soil. Earth so dry it seemed to flake beneath their feet. The ground bore deep fissures, the kind left behind by a land long abandoned by rain. Scraggly trees dotted the landscape, their limbs bare and lifeless, twisted like skeletal hands reaching for a sky that would never answer.

Above them loomed a heavy gray sky, choked with unmoving clouds. Now and then, lightning flickered in the distance, a brief flash followed by a muffled crackle that barely reached them. It was the kind of sky that threatened a storm but never delivered. Foreboding, stagnant.

The air smelled faintly of dry smoke. Not the sharp sting of a fresh fire, but the ghost of one long extinguished.

But the most striking thing about this new environment was the near-total absence of Ousia.

It reminded Rein of the emptiness inside the whale’s body. But here, the absence felt even more pronounced. Breathing wasn’t difficult, and the air wasn’t poisoned or thin. Yet something was undeniably missing. Like standing in a room where a shadow should be, or walking beneath a lightless sky. It left a void in the senses, subtle but constant.

Even Rein, whose sensitivity to Ousia was far lower than Morin’s, could feel it. And he’d never liked Ousia much to begin with, nor had he ever had the ability to control it. But here, in its absence, he felt oddly… incomplete. The way losing a belonging might feel, even if it was never truly useful.

The whale had been right. If this truly was one of the Underworld’s realms, then the reports were accurate.

There was barely a trace of Ousia in the air.

Still, a question lingered.

Did the whale know it was sending them to a prison? Was this the realm it had originally chosen for them? The one it had claimed would suit their current strength, that wouldn’t be too difficult to navigate?

Or had their detour—the strange trial, the judgment by the Lóng—landed them somewhere else entirely?

Rein wasn’t sure. But one thing was clear.

Wherever they were now, it was uncharted. Unknown.

And that meant danger.

And opportunity.

A sudden whistling sound cut through the air, sharp and fast, too fast for Rein to track in time. An instant later, something exploded nearby, sending splinters of wood and shards of metal scattering through the air.

Before he could even react, Morin was already moving. With a swift strike of her hand, she shattered the object mid-flight, stopping it cold before it could get close to him.

Another whistle followed almost immediately.

This time, Rein didn’t move. The object zipped past him and struck the ground with a solid thud. Since it hadn’t been destroyed, he finally caught a glimpse of what it was—an arrow. Small, but judging by how deep its tip had embedded itself into the hardened earth, it was far from harmless.

Despite the arrow’s small size, Rein knew it could’ve been lethal, especially if tipped with poison. But the fact that neither shot had been aimed directly at him suggested otherwise. It felt more like a warning than an attack, a message to stay back… or to be afraid.

Barely a minute into the realm, and they already felt unwelcome.

As the silence stretched, Rein's suspicion seemed correct as no more arrows came. He turned toward the direction of the shots, eyes narrowing at the jagged outline of rocky hills in the distance. Enhancing his hearing with Pneuma, he listened carefully, straining for even the faintest trace of movement. Footsteps, breathing, rustling stone, anything. Depending on what he heard, they’d decide their next move: retreat, engage, or attempt the least likely of all, diplomacy.

Beside him, Morin had come to the same conclusion. She shifted into a combat stance, her form outlined by a faint golden glow as she channeled Pneuma to reinforce her body and form a protective field. There was no fear in her expression, only sharp focus. And beneath the glow, a quiet killing intent, barely noticeable unless one knew what to look for.

“Morin, don’t reveal your strength yet. You’re our hidden weapon,” Rein said quietly. “I’ll go first. Only step in if it looks like my life’s in danger. And try to look... innocent.”

Morin obeyed immediately. Her posture softened, the tension in her muscles loosening as she dropped her stance and retracted most of her Pneuma. But not all, she left a faint layer, thin as mist, barely visible. Enough to shield herself from a sneak attack, or to strike before anyone could realize how dangerous she truly was. Now, she looked again like a harmless little girl.

Perfect.

From beyond the hills came the sound of movement, footsteps scraping against soil, accompanied by the unmistakable clatter of metal. Weapons? Armor? Possibly both. Rein sharpened his focus, enhancing his hearing. One set of footsteps became two, then five... then more. He counted at least twenty.

That number alone changed everything.

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Even with Morin’s strength, being outnumbered that heavily—especially by enemies whose abilities and weapons were still unknown—meant a head-on confrontation would be reckless. And fleeing might be the smartest move, if not the only one.

Rein clenched his jaw. He hated not knowing. Hated that the knowledge he’d trusted—Kael Riven’s book—had left him blind. Not a single mention of the Underworld being a prison, not even a hint. If that could be wrong, what else was?

The footsteps and metallic clatter grew louder, more urgent, no longer cautious but advancing with purpose. Whoever hid behind the hills was now approaching in full force. Any second, they'd come into view.

“You still remember how to fight hand-to-hand without using Ousia, right?” Rein asked, his voice low but steady, eyes sharp as blades as he scanned the ridgeline.

Morin gave a single nod, her gaze just as focused.

“Good. I’d rather we make a run for it before they show up, but I can’t be sure they don’t have others waiting to cut us off, and they know this terrain much better than we do,” he muttered.

Splitting up wasn’t an option either. They depended on each other. Even if they divided their enemies, it would only weaken them both, and he knew Morin would never agree to being separated.

“So, what do we do?” Morin asked.

“We fake a surrender,” Rein said, the decision crystallizing in his mind. “As soon as they let their guard down—drop their weapons, ease up—we strike. I’ll bait them. When I give the signal, you hit first, we push through their formation, and escape while they’re still reeling.”

He paused. “But don’t go all out, Morin. We still don’t know the rules here. If killing the locals has consequences, we don’t want to find out the hard way.”

And I really like to avoid that as much as possible.

Morin gave another nod. “Got it.”

“Now raise your hands before they appear.”

She lifted her arms above her head, mimicking Rein’s surrendering posture. He glanced over and gave a slight nod of approval.

There was still a flicker of anger in her expression—etched subtly in the furrow of her brow—but it would do. If anything, it added to the act. Rage was a natural reaction to being shot at, and it made their surrender feel more believable.

“And try to look as innocent as possible.”

Morin glanced at him, then blinked innocently.

“Like this?”

Rein smirked despite himself. “Perfect. Almost too convincing.”

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“Men! Ready your weapons! We’re almost past cover!” Fomor shouted, his voice ringing through the desolate air like a battle cry.

He made no effort to keep his voice down. On the contrary, he wanted those beyond the ridge to hear. It was all part of the act. Let them know they were outnumbered, that steel and bows waited on the other side. Intimidation was the first step. Fear made people easier to tame, easier to recruit.

This tactic had worked plenty of times before, especially on newcomers who’d just dropped into the realm, confused and disoriented. So far, his record spoke for itself.

“Bows ready! Swords ready!” Paion, his second-in-command, echoed from behind, voice just as firm.

Fomor’s boots crushed gravel as he crested the top of the rocky hill, just seconds away from laying eyes on their potential new conscripts. Not that he expected resistance. According to their archers, there were only two figures ahead. Even he could feel it: two presences, faint and unthreatening.

They were new blood, no doubt about it.

And easy prey.

He smirked. Just another smooth enlistment.

“Boss, isn’t this a bit much? All these men and weapons, for just two?” Paion asked from behind, his tone halfway between curiosity and concern.

“It’s necessary,” Fomor replied flatly.

The more overwhelming the show of force, the quicker the surrender. Fewer injuries. Less mess. No reason to waste energy when intimidation could do the work for them.

Finally, they crested the ridge and spotted the newcomers.

Two figures. Humans.

Dressed in garments unlike anything Fomor had ever seen, elegant and strange, not crafted from any fabric familiar to all the lands he had been to. Their hair was stark white, almost luminous against the dull backdrop of the realm, adding to the peculiarity. Despite the foreignness, something about their posture and aura spoke of refinement. Wealth. Status.

And they were clearly siblings. Their facial features were too similar, and the protective position of the older one, hiding the girl behind even in surrender made that bond clear.

Royalty? Descendants of the first king? Fomor wondered.

He scrutinized them closer. The older one looked like he’d barely reached adulthood. The younger still had traces of childhood on her face.

Too young to be exiles.

Too fragile-looking to be warriors.

And yet… why else would they be here?

Runaways from the sky islands, maybe? Nobility seeking power in the lands below? That was the only reason they would have ended up captured by a Warden and sent inside this prison. It was an action forbidden to the first king’s descendants after all.

It wouldn’t be the first time he'd encountered those. Their king had descended from above too. So had that insufferable general, each with cryptic motives that still puzzled even those close to them.

In the end, the reason didn’t matter.

What mattered was whether they were strong. And at first glance, that didn’t seem likely.

Slender limbs, no visible weapons, a quick surrender. But numbers were numbers. With training, even the weakest could become useful. And with enough cultivation… even the most fragile could be turned into soldiers.

Although something about them felt off, Fomor chalked it up to their strange clothing and unfamiliar features. That was nothing new. He'd seen all kinds arrive in the realm. What mattered was that their hands were raised in surrender, and that was enough to make him smile.

His eyes drifted to the ground near the older boy. One of the arrows his archer had fired stuck out of the cracked soil. The other was nowhere to be seen. Odd. He shot a glance at the archer, who simply shook his head in confusion.

Fomor shrugged it off. No matter. The plan worked, again. It always did. Bring numbers, bring weapons, and let fear do the rest.

“Welcome to our realm, humans,” he called out, this time with a softer tone, the edge in his voice replaced with practiced warmth.

“Uhm... hello,” the white-haired boy replied after a pause.

Nervous. The delay, the shaky voice. Clear signs of fear.

“No need to be afraid,” Fomor continued, stepping closer. “We won’t hurt you. I apologize for the arrows, we were startled by your sudden arrival. Part of our base was breached recently, and some of our supplies stolen. Everyone’s been on edge. We acted out of caution.”

That last part was technically true. The outsiders had been getting bolder lately. There had been a few raids, some losses. Still, nothing serious enough to justify this level of aggression. But fear bred obedience, and exaggeration helped smooth things over.

Behind the boy, the smaller girl said nothing. Her eyes burned into him with quiet fury. Her face calm, but her expression sharp with restrained anger. Fomor understood. Anyone would be furious after getting shot at without warning and surrounded by dozens of armed strangers.

Still, once he got the brother to agree, the girl would follow. That’s how it always went with siblings such as these.

One step at a time.