Underland. The Dark City. The Pits.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Rilian.
Rilian stood over the fallen opponent, his chest heaving with the force of his breaths, his knuckles still clenched tightly. Sweat dripped from his brow, mingling with the dust and grime of the underground pit where the fight had taken place.
The roar of the crowd, muffled by the dark stone walls, still rang in his ears, but it was fading, like the echo of a thunderclap retreating into the distance.
He wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand and surveyed the aftermath. His opponent was sprawled out on the dirt floor, motionless, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
It had been a quick fight – too quick, perhaps.
One of the knights from the crowd – Vasas, a broad man with a grin that was as sharp as a blade – clapped Rilian on the shoulder, the sound echoing through the dank air of the underground cavern. "That was too easy, Rilian. You had an unfair advantage, eh?"
Rilian shot him a look, a half-smirk crossing his face as he wiped the last of the blood away. "Unfair advantage?" he repeated, his voice low and dry. "We've all trained under the Commander."
The group of knights who had gathered around the pit chuckled and murmured in agreement, lifting their mugs of ale and throwing in their bets for the next match. The wooden table was littered with coins, the clinking sound of the wagers mixing with the murmur of the crowd. It was never just about the fight – it was about the spectacle, the danger, and the promise of extra silver.
Vasas grinned and leaned in closer, his brown eyes glinting with mischief as his brown curls fell over his brow. "Not one on one, though, eh?" He winked, nudging Rilian with his elbow, the implication clear.
Rilian scoffed, tossing back the rest of his ale in a single gulp. His fingers gripped the mug tightly, as if to stop them from shaking. The mention of the Commander, of the harsh training, of the unrelenting woman who had shaped them all into warriors, stirred something in his gut.
She was something else – something more.
She was power and discipline.
He had asked her to train him, practically begged. None of them knew what it was like to spar with her truly, to feel her eyes burning into him when he faltered.
He shrugged off their teasing with a nonchalant flick of his hand, tossing back more ale to wash away the thoughts. He had enough to keep him distracted – his body, sore from the fight, still humming with adrenaline.
When the next fight was announced, Rilian's gaze snapped to the pit.
The reigning champion, Erebin, a dryad, was stepping forward.
Erebin, the reigning champion of the pits, was a striking figure—tall and imposing, with a presence that commanded attention. His skin, a unique blend of honey gold and green, gave him the appearance of one who was at one with the earth, as if he were a living extension of the forest itself. Beneath the warmth of his golden hue, there had been a subtle green cast, like the leaves of a tree in early spring, hinting at the deep-rooted connection he shared with the natural world.
His eyes, the colour of moss after a spring rain, were intense and unyielding. They flickered with an almost predatory gleam, always calculating, always aware of his surroundings. In the arena, those eyes had been the last thing his opponents saw before they fell to the ground, crushed by his sheer strength and relentless nature.
Unlike many of his kind, Erebin had been no fragile, delicate dryad, his form an elegant whisper of nature. No, Erebin was a warrior in every sense of the word – a mountain of muscle wrapped in the skin of a forest spirit. His arms were thick with cords of muscle, his chest broad and powerful, built not just for the swift grace of a dryad but for the brutal force of combat. His physique, honed through countless fights, was like the trunk of an ancient oak – solid, unmoving, and capable of withstanding any blow.
He was undefeated in the pits, his speed and agility unrivalled. There was no doubt in Rilian's mind that he would crush his opponent, whoever it was.
The dryads frequented the pits more often than others, always driven by the thirst for more coin. Underland was harsher on them than any other place they had known, testing their strength and resilience in ways the forests could never have. For in the deep, shadowed caverns, they were no longer the graceful, nature-bound spirits they were revered as above ground. Instead, they were forced to confront a brutal, unforgiving world—a world that cared little for their ties to the land or their ethereal beauty.
A man Rilian didn't recognize stepped forward—a tall, broad-shouldered figure, his face hidden beneath a hood. The crowd murmured with curiosity at his entrance.
He must have arrived with the merchants.
No one knew him, and that alone made the match far more compelling. A stranger in the pits was a rarity—an unknown face in a place where everyone was accounted for, where every fighter had earned their place through blood and sweat. The mystery of a newcomer always stirred the air, especially in Underland, where outsiders were nearly unheard of.
A cacophony of voices erupted, overlapping in a chaotic wave. Bystanders leaned in, shouting their wagers, eager to stake their claim on the outcome of the fight. The sharp clink of silver and gold echoed through the cavern as coins exchanged hands with swift, practiced ease, fortune shifting as quickly as a blade in the dark.
But Rilian only watched, his interest distant, detached. The chill in the air seemed to deepen, wrapping around him like a second skin.
Underland was always cold.
Rilian hated it.
The chill was relentless, seeping into his bones, gnawing at his skin. It was a constant companion; something that never let go. The dry, bitter wind from the caverns whipped through the narrow streets. Yet, as much as he hated it, as much as the frozen breath of this place made him long for warmth, Rilian preferred the cool briskness of the forests and the city.
The forest had a natural beauty, the kind that took the edge off the cold. The city, with its sprawling walls and rough streets, had a certain vibrancy to it, an air of life that was void in the rest of Underland.
But the castle… the castle was different. The stifling warmth of the dark stone walls, the dim torchlight casting long shadows on the walls – it was all suffocating. There was no escape from the heat of it, the stillness that made the air feel thick.
Every time Rilian walked its halls, he could almost feel the weight of the stone pressing down on him, as if it were alive, as if it were trying to keep him there, anchored in the dark.
But that wasn't what bothered him the most.
What bothered him was the stillness.
The silence.
The loneliness.
Especially when Sapphyre was gone.
The pits, though… the pits felt different. It was a place where action and life collided, where every breath was a challenge. There, he could lose himself in the fight, in the adrenaline, in the noise of the crowd. In the pits, there was no room for loneliness, no time for self-doubt. In the pits, he was just a fighter. And he was good.
The fighting pits lay beneath the city itself, carved deep into the bedrock of Underland. The cavern was vast, its jagged walls stretching high into the darkness, where the ceiling was lost to shadow. Stalactites hung like the fangs of some slumbering beast, droplets of water falling at irregular intervals, their echoes a hollow, rhythmic drip that only added to the oppressive atmosphere. The air was thick with dampness, carrying the scent of wet stone, sweat, and the coppery remnants of past battles. The floor beneath the fighters was uneven, worn slick by years of bloodshed.
Along the edges of the cavern, a bar had been carved from the stone itself, its surface rough but well-used. Behind it, bottles of dark liquid lined uneven shelves, their contents gleaming under the dim lantern light. The patrons leaned against the bar or sat at the heavy stone tables scattered throughout the cavern, their voices low and rough as they drank, gambled, and waited for the night's entertainment.
The crowd stirred, shifting along the cavern's ledges and gathering near the pit. The murmurs grew louder as Erebin and his opponent stepped forward, each movement sending ripples of energy through the onlookers. Shadows flickered against the rough-hewn walls, cast by the dim glow of lanterns and smouldering braziers.
A few of the knights next to him whispered under their breath, watching Erebin stretch his limbs, preparing for the fight.
The stranger stood with a quiet confidence, his hood still drawn low over his face, his stance betraying no fear. Erebin, ever the champion, rolled his shoulders, his powerful frame shifting like a great oak bracing for a storm.
The murmurs grew into an excited hum, the weight of expectation thick in the air.
Rilian drained his mug, the bitter liquid burning slightly as it went down. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, the motion fluid, instinctual. The fight raged on behind him, the roars of the crowd rising, but he paid it no mind.
He would not linger.
Not that night.
Turning from the pits and bidding his companions farewell, he made his way toward the tunnels that led back to the city streets. The air grew colder the deeper one went, the moisture clinging to the rough stone walls like a second skin. He knew the way—had walked it enough times to remember every twist and curve. But Underland's tunnels were treacherous, winding in endless, uncharted paths beneath the city.
Even the Knights had not explored them all.
Sapphyre had told him that once, her voice quiet, unreadable. There were places even her most trusted warriors dared not go, passages swallowed by the dark, paths that led to nothing but ruin.
Rilian quickened his pace, his footsteps echoing against the damp stone.
And when he made it to the street Rilian's eyes caught the flutter of movement ahead – a small blue flag rising alongside the green banner atop the castle spires, a subtle but unmistakable signal. His heart gave an involuntary leap.
She had returned.
Sapphyre.
The blue flag was a rare sight, a personal banner, a silent announcement to those who knew its meaning.
The return of the Knight Commander.
The thought of her stirred something in him.
Rilian's steps quickened, his pace matching the speed of his thoughts, the familiar route to the castle drawing him closer to the dark heart of Underland. The city ahead loomed like a sentient beast, its spires and towers rising from the earth like the teeth of a great forgotten creature. The architecture was imposing, the buildings and structures constructed from stones as black as night.
The Dark City, an apt name.
It looked as if it had been carved straight from the stone itself, shaped and sculpted by hands long forgotten. Tall columns lined the streets like silent sentinels and each column bore intricate carvings – swirling designs of forgotten creatures and symbols that seemed to pulse with an ancient, almost oppressive magic. The streets, wide and silent, were paved with dark, polished stone that glinted faintly under the faint torchlight, their edges softened by age and the relentless passage of time.
The city, though vast, felt closed in, like the interior of a great temple – or a tomb. There was no warmth, no sun to brighten the shadows. Even the air was thick with a damp chill, hanging heavy with the scent of wet stone, of ages buried deep beneath the surface.
The walls of the castle rose like a jagged cliff face against the sky, crowned with the imposing spires of a fortress designed for eternity. The stone there was darker, slick with the dampness that always clung to it, the shadows seeming to stretch from every corner.
It was not a city built for comfort.
It was built for permanence – stoic and unmoving, as if it had been here before the world had a name.
The roads leading to the castle were lined with statues of their queen. She seemed to watch every step he took, judging him silently as he passed. The chill of the stone underfoot seemed to seep into his very bones, but it was a cold he had long since grown accustomed to.
At the heart of the city, rising above all else, stood the dark castle – its walls smooth and polished, but with an unsettling stillness that made it feel as if it were waiting, waiting for something to stir. The windows were small slits, framed by carved stone that seemed to swallow the light. Torches flickered along the outer walls, casting long shadows that curled like living things, wrapping themselves around the fortress.
Rilian passed under the towering arches of the city gates, his mind on Sapphyre as he neared the castle. There was something about this place, about Underland itself, that always made him feel like an outsider – a stranger in a land that had no place for him, yet here he was, drawn to it, drawn to her. Despite the dark stones, the oppressive silence, and the feeling of being buried under the stone, he felt something stir within him.
A desire. A need.
To be near her.
To feel her presence again.
It was strange, the way the city seemed to breathe with the same rhythm as his own heartbeat. The city itself felt alive, its stones whispering secrets, but Rilian knew better than to question it.
Some things were better left unasked. The place had a strange gravity to it, as if it anchored everything else to that existence. Yet, for all the weight of it, Rilian couldn't help but be drawn to it.
Not because of the stone.
Because of her.
Sapphyre.
The closer he got to the castle, the heavier the weight of his thoughts became. His steps quickened as he neared the gates, the cold, polished stone of the streets making his feet feel like they were sinking into the ground. Underland was always cold, but tonight, it felt colder still.
Yet there was warmth on the horizon for him.
Her presence.
And as he crossed the threshold of the castle gates, he could almost feel it—an invisible pulse in the air.
His blue bird had returned.