The light of a single torch guides us down a long, pitch black tunnel. Its bearer, a soldier of the Three Devils Gang, walks a few paces ahead of Arcadia, Zasalamel and I, leading us through the darkness. The light of the flames flickers across the tattoo of three grinning, fiend-faced stars on his back, making them seem malevolently alive. Somehow this all reminds me of the night we snuck out of the Imperial Palace of Ecea, which, when I think about it, isn’t as long ago as it feels like. We’ve left the living, breathing city of Aleria behind us, and traveled deep into its catacombs. To dead places. But perhaps The House of the Sun and Moons isn’t so much dead as forgotten.

“Amoraketh was careful to hide her secrets,” says Zasalamel, as if she could hear my thoughts. “So that only those with the proper knowledge would know the way.”

“Do you come down here often?” I ask.

“When I must.”

I wonder what her answer means, but I decide against asking her to clarify. Our of the corner of my eye I see Arcadia glancing at Zasalamel, her eyes on the woman’s lush, swaying hips, her diaphanous gown swishing this way and that while she walks. The garment leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Zasalamel notices eventually, and smiles.

“If you like this dress, I can have one made for you. I think you would look lovely in it.”

Arcadia's cheeks redden as her gaze shoots from Zasalamel, to her own body, and then to me. Like a kid caught with her hand in the sweets jar. "I-I think I lack the confidence for something like that."

Zasalamel waits a few moments to answer, smiling while Arcadia fixes her eyes resolutely ahead. “That is a shame,” she finally says.

I remember a time when even light flirtation like that would make me want to punch someone’s face in. But I don’t feel it, for a second time now, and its absence puzzles me. Perhaps it’s because Zasalamel is a woman. Or maybe I don’t think she intends to try and prey on Arcadia sexually or anything. She seems harmless. Of course, this woman is not only the boss of one of the largest and oldest criminal enterprises in Aleria, but a Sorceress whose powers neither of us have yet experienced, so perhaps ‘harmless’ isn’t the right word.

The tunnel begins to slope downward, and we descend perhaps a hundred yards before it flattens again at a T-junction. We can go left or right. Our torchbearer takes a moment to glance down the rightward path, but he leads us to the left instead, and we follow. This tunnel is narrower, making us fall into single file, and its ceiling is flat, low enough for the flame of the torch to lick against the stones overhead. I would have expected our path to cross through the city sewers at some point, but so far it hasn’t. The walls and floor are bone-dry, so instead of the rank odor of sewers, we have the dry, musty aroma of a tomb instead. Much preferable.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” I say, after a short time walking in silence. “What exactly do you need our help with?”

“On its present course, my home is bound for an evil fate. I wish to prevent this.”

“But how? Where do we come in?”

“You will be the moons to my sun. My Ala and Zia. A pair of mighty hands, with which to properly arrange events.”

“Well, that’s convenient. What would you have done if we hadn’t showed up?”

She glances at me over her shoulder, and I catch a glimpse of that mysterious smile of hers. “Perhaps you were meant to be the hands of destiny all along.”

That makes me raise an eyebrow at her. Is she suggesting we’ve been manipulated into arriving here, at this date and time? Under these exact circumstances? That’s hard to imagine. Perhaps she’s just trying to seem more powerful and enigmatic than she really is.

We come to another junction, and this time our guide leads us to the right. Not even a dozen paces later there’s another. And another. The tunnel seems to double back on itself, and becomes a maze of turns and intersections. The man with the torch knows the way, however, confidence in his stride as he chooses our course over and over. I look around, searching the walls and ceilings for signs in case we have to come through here unassisted, but I see nothing but smooth, flawless stone. He’s going from memory. Either that, or there’s something here I simply can’t see.

My direction sense tells me we’re gradually making our way toward the center of the maze. When we finally do, we stand before an open square of space, intricate runes carved directly into the stones of the floor. I see Arcadia’s eyes widen with recognition as they scan over them, which makes Zasalamel smile at her.

“You recognize it?” she asks.

Arcadia smiles a little, and nods mutely.

“If you know the words, speak them.”

She takes a big breath. Then she sort of shakes her head a bit, as if she were psyching herself up for this, the first contact she’s likely ever made with an actual Amorakethian relic. Her eyes close, and as they do she begins to mutter in low tones, slowly pronouncing each syllable. It doesn’t sound like anything I’ve yet heard. The words are surprisingly simplistic, not at all like the Lore of Air and Water. I can even follow along. Ra. Nu. Suul. Akhet. Et. Nieda. As she speaks, the glyphs carved into the floor of the square room light up, as if glowing liquid were being poured into the grooves in the stone by an invisible hand. It continues until Arcadia is finished with her chant, and all of the sigils on the floor glow brightly enough to illuminate the small chamber.

Zasalamel smiles approvingly. “Well done.”

Arcadia blushes, grinning, and looks away from her. “Thanks.”

She gestures for Arcadia to step onto the glowing square first, and after doing so she steps aside for me to follow. Zasalamel and her torch-bearer are the last to enter, and the moment they do I feel a slight lurch in my stomach as the floor… Descends. Straight down. Not quickly enough to make me think it’s a trap door, but still I feel a small jolt of alarm.

Zasalamel lets out a little laugh, no doubt noticing the look on my face. “The architecture is quite sophisticated, is it not?”

“The what now?”

Arcadia smirks at me. “It’s a lift. We’re going down to a lower level.”

“They didn’t have staircases in Amoraketh?”

“This is a more elegant design,” says Zasalamel.

I frown. “If you say so.”

The walls around us are sliding upward, at least as far as I can tell. What I can’t seem to tell is how fast we’re falling. It sort of feels like we’re standing in a bucket being lowered into a well. But this is magic. There’s no telling what’s actually going on here.

Arcadia, meanwhile, is doing her best not to physically buzz with anticipation. I can tell by the big grin on her face, the way she shuffles her feet slightly, and wraps her thumb around her index knuckle and squeezes as if to soothe herself. She catches me looking at her, but instead of blushing like she usually does, her grin widens to the point where I can see the childlike excitement bubbling up inside her. I smirk, and mouth the words ‘You’re cute,’ without speaking them.

That gets a blush.

Our lift slows, then stops. Another path stretches before us, this one terminating in a short staircase beneath a massive arched doorway. Zasalamel steps off the platform first, leading Arcadia and I onward while our torch-bearing friend stays behind. Perhaps he has to mind the lift. Either that or he isn’t permitted to come any further, I don’t know which.

We pass through the archway, and into a triangular chamber with vaulted ceilings, golden light shining down through a skylight somewhere far above. It occurs to me that we’re too far underground for a skylight to work, but before I spend too long wondering how it functions, I take in the rest of the view. This room looks like a place of worship. The walls are covered in Amorakethian script. A trio of slender pillars reach up to the towering ceiling, and they frame a mosaic on the ground depicting the exact image in Jhekata’s Compendium. The image the Three Devils Gang so deviously disguised with their mark, only much larger. The sun, Ala and Zia, aligned in a triquetra with interlaced arcs between them.

I don’t ever think I’ve seen Arcadia look at something so reverently. Her jittery excitement from the lift is gone, replaced with an awestruck gaze, as she slowly walks into the room, her eyes taking in every single detail with care. I halfway expect her to start floating. It suddenly hits me, what this means to her, how far we’ve come to reach this place. It puts a lump in my throat.

“I have seen what is to come,” says Zasalamel, as she saunters toward the part of the mosaic that represents the sun. “But my vision is not without its flaws. Many possibilities unfold before us. Many of them are unfortunate. You may aid me in shaping them, bringing us to the conclusion we desire.”

I walk a few paces into the room, but I stop short of the mosaic and glance over at Arcadia. She’s wandered to the wall of the chamber, leaning in close to examine the hieroglyphics. I see something like temptation in her eyes for a moment, but then she blinks and bites her lip, like she’s deciding against doing something. She turns to face us, a serene sort of smile on her face.

“I’m ready to help, in any way I can,” she says.

Well. If she’s in, I’m in.

I give Zasalamel a wry smile. “Forgive me for asking again, but it’d help if we knew exactly how we’re helping.”

Her answer is another mysterious smile. Apparently I’m not getting straight answers today. Instead, Zasalamel gestures for us to join her on the mosaic. She stands over the symbol of the sun, and has Arcadia and I stand upon the moons. Then she directs her gaze skyward, reaching out toward the light with both hands.

When the chanting begins, it is of a similar tone and cadence to Arcadia’s, when she activated that lift. I feel something in my chest, a thrum of power washing over me. The light above narrows and splits, forming three spotlights, one over each of us. Zasalamel closes her eyes, and when she does so her body begins to glow and shimmer, turning indistinct. As if her physical being were somehow being dissolved by the magic. The sight of it stirs me to panic and look over at Arcadia’s body, then my own. No change. Whatever Zasalamel is doing, it’s affecting her alone. I think. Is this how it’s supposed to work?

“Seek out a thief named Whisper,” says Zasalamel, her voice amplified and distorted by her spell. “A strong destiny surrounds him.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?”

“I cannot. I must remain here until it is done.”

“Until what is done?!”

“Until you make tomorrow a perfect day.”

And with that, what’s left of Zasalamel becomes one with the light.