The tunnels beneath Kuroku felt older than the city above.
Smoke thinned. Heat shifted. The walls grew rough, etched with marks that no longer matched any living script. Burned ink, melted wax, and scorched glyph-parchment clung to the air like ghosts refusing to move on.
At the end of the passage, a warped doorway glowed orange.
Ozu Ren's den.
Inside, the room hummed with unstable resonance. Torn scrolls littered the floor. Glyph parchment curled against the walls, ink still crawling faintly along ruined lines. Ember torches flickered, casting shadows that moved when no one else did.
Ozu Ren leaned over a stone table, pipe smoldering between his fingers.
"You're tracking embers," he said without looking up. "Could smell you from the stairs."
Rai crossed his arms. "Good to see you too."
Ozu glanced up, eyes sharp and calculating. "The Wild Flame and the Whisper. What can I illegally do for you today?"
"We need access to the Sealer Cathedral," Rai said.
The humor vanished.
"That's where they bury names," Ozu said slowly.
"And clan marks," Nox added.
Ozu leaned back, exhaling smoke. "Sit. If you're asking about that place, you're already dead—you just don't know it yet."
He unfolded a charred hide map across the table.
Beneath ceremonial scripture lay deeper layers—chains, locks, overlapping seals tied to different Aspects. Bone. Shadow. Time. Echo.
"They buried your clan under their house," Ozu said. "Ashbrand didn't vanish. It was sealed."
Rai's chest burned.
"My father," Rai said. "He went down there."
Ozu nodded once. "He was killed for what he saw."
Silence pressed in.
"Then we crack it," Rai said. "And take it back."
Nox studied the map. "Twelve locks. No clean path."
Ozu slid a glyph coin across the table. "Masks your aura. Briefly. After that—you're ghosts or corpses."
As they left, Ozu watched them go.
"History doesn't like being disturbed," he muttered.