The predator's chittering echoed between the narrow walls, drawing me deeper into the First City.
My boots splashed through thin puddles that mirrored the green veins running along the stone—a sickly glow that seemed to follow the sound. The air grew hotter the further I went, thick with the scent of burnt resin.
The Nameless God murmured. It bleeds in places you cannot see.
The chittering stopped.
I slowed, listening. Above, the bridges groaned softly, their undersides heavy with dangling growths. The silence here was unnatural, like sound itself had been scraped away.
Then a voice cut through it.
"You shouldn't chase the hollow-teeth."
I turned.
A figure leaned against a doorway, arms folded. They wore no beast mask, only a hood stitched with tiny bone fragments that rattled when they moved. Their eyes—amber and sharp—studied me like a butcher eyeing a cut of meat.
"You're not from here," they said.
"No," I replied. "But I'm here now."
They smirked. "The hollow-teeth don't kill quickly. They keep their prey alive until the city takes the rest. The roots feed better that way."
I stepped closer. "And what happens if the roots starve?"
For a moment, their smirk faded. "The surface falls. Your kingdoms, your lords, your empires—all of it swallowed in one breath."
They glanced past me into the shadows. "You smell like you've already been marked. If the hollow-toothed came for you, it will come again."
The Nameless God's whisper was almost amused. It already watches.
The stranger pushed away from the wall. "If you want to live long enough to matter, follow the veins to the Hollow Bridge. There are people there who will speak with you. For a price."
Before I could ask, they were gone—melting into the dark with a clatter of bone charms.
The green veins pulsed once, brighter than before. And somewhere above, I heard the hollow-teeth chitter again.