Ruihuang stepped through the portal first, tall and steady like always.
Fang Yuxi followed, arms crossed, her eyes flicking warily at the shimmer as she passed.
Qingran was last.
The portal closed behind her with a soft hum, and silence swallowed them whole.
She blinked once as her eyes adjusted.
The air was colder here, bone-dry and metallic.
Overhead, long-forgotten bunker lights flickered to life one by one, chasing shadows down a corridor that seemed to stretch forever.
The walls were old concrete reinforced with rusted steel.
The kind of place made to outlive disaster.
But not left untouched by it.
Water damage bloomed along the far ends, fungus like rot-black lace creeping up the corners.
Some doors hung broken, others swollen shut. Only a narrow path had been cleared through the grime and someone had carved that path with methodical precision.
She stepped forward and caught the sharp scent in the air, ozone and bleach layered over something older.
