The undercity did not sleep.
It pulsed.
It breathed.
It muttered in wet brick sighs and dripping pipes like a creature annoyed it had to exist.
Lanterns flickered along stone walls, casting long shadows that looked like they'd seen enough tragedy to write novels. Somewhere far off, someone laughed like they'd stolen a good moment. Somewhere else, someone argued like they'd lost one. Somewhere else, someone cried quietly because this city had always been cruel, long before Aiden or any of them arrived.
Life here didn't flourish.
It persisted.
They stopped walking only when Inkaris decided they would. He didn't make an announcement. He didn't strike a pose. He simply stopped.
Reality politely took that as a cue to listen.
"We begin," he said.
Seris blinked. "…Now?"
"Yes," Inkaris replied calmly. "You no longer possess the luxury of later."
Aiden had the sudden, powerful desire to file paperwork with every cosmic department he'd learned existed and politely request a reschedule.
Liora muttered, "Of course it's now. Demons don't believe in emotional preparation or tea."
Inkaris ignored that so smoothly it could've been professional courtesy.
He gestured toward Aiden and Liora first.
"Wishgranting is not force. It is desire politics. Reality bends first to want, not will. You do not strike. You leverage. You do not overpower. You negotiate, manipulate, tempt, corner—through greed, fear, love, desperation, righteousness."
Liora squinted. "…So emotional warfare?"
"Yes," Inkaris said pleasantly.
Aiden whispered, "I feel like we should need a permit for this."
Seris simply pinched the bridge of her nose.
Then Inkaris turned to Seris, voice shifting—still steady, but tailored sharper.
"You fight a different war."
She steadied instinctively. "Magic."
"Discipline," he corrected gently.
"Magic is merely your blade. You decide how to wield it."
He stepped closer—not looming, but anchoring.
"You do not bend desire. You bend law. Pattern. Physics. Ritual structure. Mana networks. Your greatest threat is not corruption."
His gaze softened slightly.
"It is exhaustion. You will push yourself until you shatter, because you do not know how to stop."
Seris opened her mouth—
Stopped—
Sighed.
"…That is annoyingly correct."
Aiden smiled softly.
Liora nodded sympathetically.
Inkaris looked quietly satisfied with being accurate.
Then the world changed.
Not as magic.
As permission.
Stone unfurled outward. The tunnel stretched into something like a training arena carved from reality, shadows lengthening, air tightening. Echoes of boots sounded. Shouts. Commanding voices. The sense of danger without death.
Aiden stiffened.
Liora inhaled.
Seris slid into a defensive stance so fluidly it hurt to know how well-practiced she was.
Inkaris' voice grounded the world.
"Aiden. Liora. Emotion is your battlefield."
"Seris. Structure is yours."
"You are not heroes. But you are very inconvenient to people who enjoy cruelty. That will do."
The illusions surged forward.
Seris moved first.
Not recklessly.
Professionally.
A sigil twist—compressed air—precise redirection—
Boom.
Contained. Controlled. Perfectly measured.
By the eighth illusion soldier, sweat beaded her brow. By the tenth, power flared hotter than safe, her fingers tightening—
"Stop," Inkaris snapped.
She froze.
Breath shook.
Power dissipated safely.
"You nearly burned through exhaustion to force output. You are not a miracle factory. You are allowed to stop."
She swallowed.
"…Thank you."
He nodded once, proud.
Next—
Liora.
"Emotional tethering," he said. "You will feel desire. You will not drown in it."
"That sounds terrible," she said.
"It is," he replied politely.
A rush of voices filled her mind:
Warmth.
Food.
Revenge.
Love.
Vindication.
Forgiveness.
It hurt.
She wanted to help everyone.
That was the trap.
"No," Inkaris said gently behind her. "You owe discernment, not salvation."
She found one voice.
A child asking for their mother to live.
She nudged reality—only possibility, not guarantee.
One.
Just one.
She did not collapse.
Progress.
Then—
Aiden.
No illusions.
Just silence.
"Why is nothing happening?" he asked.
"It is," Inkaris said. "Yours is internal confrontation."
A figure formed.
Him.
Not stronger. Not monstrous.
Just… wrong.
Detached. Efficient. Numb. Granting wishes perfectly. Never questioning. Never hurting when people did.
Inkaris spoke quietly.
"The worst version of you is not cruel. He is indifferent."
Aiden's chest tightened.
"I won't become that."
"Say it as truth," Inkaris said.
"I won't become that."
"Louder."
"I WILL NOT BECOME THAT!"
The illusion bowed its head—
and vanished.
Then the real pressure came.
Invisible weight dropped like the emotional equivalent of a collapsing ceiling.
Aiden felt guilt.
Liora felt expectation.
Seris felt judgement.
"Breathe," Inkaris ordered.
They did not.
He sighed like a teacher exhausted by brilliant but stubborn students.
"Aiden. Something you did right this month."
"…I saved Seris."
"Correct."
"Liora. Something you deserve that is good."
Her voice shook. "…Rest."
"Correct."
"Seris. Something you do not need to control."
Her throat closed.
"…Everything."
"Specific."
She exhaled.
"…I do not need to control how people see me anymore."
The weight shattered.
They gasped in fresh air like they'd forgotten it existed.
Aiden slumped.
Liora steadied.
Seris straightened.
They were tired.
They did not break.
Inkaris looked at them with something dangerously close to pride.
"That," he said, "was just the beginning."
Aiden managed a shaky smile.
Liora laughed breathlessly.
Seris rolled her shoulders and nodded once.
They weren't okay.
But they were learning.
And in the undercity's dim, stubborn heartbeat…
that was enough—
for now.