prologue

The air in the tunnels of Solunis carries a persistent chill, gnawing at the edges of my ragged clothes as I descend further into the abyss. This is the life we've been cursed with, an existence carved out in the shadowy underbelly of a world unknown to those above. Each step I take sends tremors of pain echoing through my entire body, resonating with the weight of our labor and the gravity of our servitude.

Around me, the sounds of pickaxes striking rock form a dissonant symphony, harmonizing with the hushed murmurs and stifled coughs of my fellow slaves. We're a motley crew of misfits and outcasts, tied together by fate and chains. Cliques have formed among us, minor alliances born of the shared struggle. But I remain an outsider, not out of choice but circumstance. It's easier this way, to endure the solitude.

Kael, the charismatic beacon among us, offers rare moments of respite from the relentless toil. Her voice, melodious even amidst the shadows, rings out with guidance and encouragement. She's part of the leaders, the closest thing we have to authority within these depths, and her words are like a gentle current guiding us through turbulent waters.

"Keep your pace steady, everyone! We have a quota to meet!" Kael's voice carries, a reassuring echo against the cold walls. I can see her in the flickering light of the lanterns, her face a determined mask of strength. But she's not mine to lean on, not like the others. I've become adept at navigating this lonely existence.

As my pickaxe strikes the wall, a cascade of rocks clatters to the ground, a futile offering to appease the abyss. My own sweat mingles with the persistent dampness of the tunnels, and my heart drums to the rhythm of the labor, a constant beat of survival. Every strike is a reminder of my insignificance within this grand design.

The tower looms ahead, a foreboding silhouette against the unending black. Legends speak of its depths, its hidden treasures, and the power that lies dormant within. Lumin, they call it—an energy to challenge the very essence of the abyss. The tower's secrets beckon, and yet, even with my nigh on perfect memory, I am left grappling with fragments, only able to piece together a puzzle I cannot see in its entirety.

The air shifts, a subtle breeze brushing against my skin. It's a rarity, a reminder of the outside world we've been severed from. My chains chafe against my wrists, a biting reminder of the servitude that binds me. My eyes, once bright, are now dull, dead pools that have seen too much, felt too little.

I cast a glance towards Kael, who gazes at the tunnel's end with an intensity that defies the surrounding darkness. Her presence is a constant, a focal point in this subterranean labyrinth. But our paths rarely cross, our interactions limited to terse reminders of our roles. Friendship, camaraderie—these are privileges reserved for those who aren't like me.

As the day's labor stretches on, I find myself dwelling on the whispers of change that seem to dance on the edge of reality. There's a prophecy, murmured by those who dare to dream, a whisper that suggests an upheaval of the established order. But such thoughts are fleeting, insubstantial like mist in the face of our tangible hardships.

The air grows colder with each passing moment, as if the abyss itself inhales, drawing us further into its depths. And I, like an ink blot on a canvas of darkness, continue my descent into desolation, unseeing eyes fixed on the path ahead.