"It's almost morning," Silva muttered, though the world around them betrayed nothing of the sort.
Valeria turned her gaze to the sky—or rather, the hollow, jagged ceiling far above, lost in darkness. There was no dawn in the Underground. No sunrise, no soft warmth spilling over hills or rooftops. Just the same suffocating gloom, broken by flickering glows of lanterns and magic.
She exhaled a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "You know," Valeria murmured, watching a faint shimmer from a mounted lantern nearby, "I almost forgot how surreal this place is."
The lantern wasn't a typical one. It pulsed gently, emitting a regulated warmth—a replicated solar essence, imbued with carefully moderated yellow magic. Enough to keep people sane. Not enough to give them hope.
"Even when it's morning," she added, half-smiling, "it still feels like night."
