The undercity didn't exactly have mornings. It had lighter darkness and slightly less damp air. That was close enough.
They didn't wake to birdsong. They woke to pipes shuddering awake, distant shouting, someone complaining about rent, and the faint smell of bread that definitely wasn't sourced through purely honest means.
Life.
As close as they'd get for now.
Aiden woke first.
Not because he needed sleep like humans did. His body existed somewhere between "requires nothing" and "imitates normalcy so others feel better." He just… stopped resting when his mind finally felt quiet enough to think. He stared at the ceiling for a long, still moment.
"…I don't hate it," he murmured to the stone.
That was practically affection.
Liora emerged next, hair in a heroic battle against gravity. She squinted at him in sleepy evaluation, decided he wasn't emotionally collapsing, and nodded.
"You're awake," she declared.
"You're observant," he replied.
She narrowed her eyes.
He smirked.
They were fine.
Seris took longest to appear. Tea bribed her into movement. She took the cup quietly, muttered thank you, and didn't look like she expected the world to explode immediately. Her shoulders rested a fraction lower than usual.
That alone felt like victory.
Across the space, Inkaris observed them the way other people might observe a delicate machine: checking for cracks, listening for strain, tracking stability like a tactical resource. He believed rest wasn't indulgence.
It was strategy.
He allowed this.
Barely.
They drifted into the undercity marketplace because life demanded errands. The noise was stubborn and loud and alive. People argued pricing like it was arena combat. Questionable produce appeared on questionably legal carts. The smell of fried dough assaulted morality and won.
Seris calculated living costs with professional misery.
Liora focused on keeping them unnoticed.
Aiden simply existed.
Which was, unfortunately, the problem.
He smiled at a vendor wrong and accidently triggered a miniature social catastrophe of flirting, aggressive kindness, and near-adoption.
"You are banned from the public," Seris hissed, dragging him away. "No eye contact. No talking. No existing without supervision."
"I feel oppressed," Aiden replied solemnly.
"You are," Liora confirmed.
They bought food.
They washed clothing.
They listened to gossip instead of screaming.
It felt fragile.
It felt like living.
Later they found a ledge overlooking the lower arches, lantern light painting tired constellations against damp stone. Just far enough from trouble. Just close enough to hear people breathing life somewhere below.
Liora leaned forward and sighed like her body forgot how until now. "I forgot what not running feels like."
Seris nodded, almost smiling. "It feels wrong. And… nice. And still wrong."
"Fragile," Aiden said simply.
They didn't argue.
They talked.
About stew.
About soap.
About a woman in the market who nearly fought Liora over bread.
They laughed at things that didn't matter but somehow did.
Aiden laughed.
Seris genuinely smiled.
Liora nudged them both like an exasperated older sister refusing to admit affection.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing heroic.
Human things.
A little distance away, Inkaris watched.
Not evaluating.
Not analyzing.
Not correcting.
Just watching.
Aiden laughed again — bright, unburdened in a way the world had almost trained him not to be. Seris smiled back without a wall in the way. Liora bumped his shoulder and he pretended it hurt.
For a heartbeat, that scene overlapped with something older.
Another hidden place.
Another quiet light.
Another laugh.
A man with thoughtful eyes. Someone who didn't run from demons. Someone who listened more than he spoke. Someone who softened without trying, steadied without demanding. Someone who had once stood beside Inkaris and made existence feel… less lonely.
Someone gone.
Not lost to war.
Not to monsters or dramatic tragedy.
Just taken, quietly, the way the universe occasionally removes precious things simply because it can.
The pain wasn't sharp anymore.
It was colder.
Older.
Heavy in the way ancient wounds are — not bleeding, simply existing.
It pressed inward, familiar and constant.
On his face, nothing changed.
Perfect control.
Perfect composure.
Not a flicker.
His breathing stayed steady. His posture never softened. His gaze didn't tremble. No one looking at him would have known anything stirred inside him at all.
Demons didn't break where others could see.
They remembered.
They endured.
He folded the memory away with precision, placing it back where it always lived—not erased, not ignored, simply carried.
Then he looked back at Aiden.
Good, he thought.
That laugh needed to stay in the world.
So he let them have this peace a little longer. Not because he was sentimental.
Because he knew exactly how it felt to lose it.
Above, the world still turned. Plans still sharpened. Hunters still prepared.
But not here.
Not yet.
Here there was warmth in cups, laughter on lips, and the fragile illusion that tomorrow wouldn't bite.
Borrowed quiet.
Temporary peace.
Enough to breathe.
Enough to live.
And for one stubborn moment beneath the city…
it was everything.