It hid between stone and root - a thin seam in the colossal wall. If you knew where to press, it would let you in.
The man shifted his load like it was nothing. Raizen hung limp and pale over one shoulder. The girl lay against the other. He lifted his mechanical hand and set the metal fingers to the stone. Something inside the wall clicked. Iron on stone.
The seam opened. A narrow passage like a throat of black opened in front of him. He waited one breath, listening for footsteps. Then he slipped inside without a sound. The door sealed behind him, leaving behind the grass, wind, and sky.
Darkness pressed close. Old bulbs burned a low, orange line along the passage, more glow than light. The air was heavy and wet. Oil. Rust. Coal smoke. Somewhere far below, machinery hummed like a hidden heart.
The tunnel sloped down. It widened. The dark let go.
The Underworks opened like a wound under Neoshima - an undercity for the unwanted. Tunnels ran like veins in every direction. Some had lamps that flickered and buzzed. Others disappeared into pitch.
Scrap bridges stitched the heights together. Iron ribs dripped with condensation. Chains hung from the unseen roof and swayed just enough to catch the light.
People were everywhere. Cloaks and shadows. Hollow cheeks. Barefoot kids streaking between stalls that sold scraps of food, nearly broken tools, and knives that had seen too much. Voices braided into a constant murmur - bargaining, shouting, crying, whispering.
Life. Hard and stubborn, but still life.
He moved through it at a steady pace, boots knocking the uneven stone. He did not need to ask for space. People felt him coming and made room. Eyes followed the mechanical arm. The scars. The way he carried both bodies without a flinch. Some looked down fast. Some whispered. No one got in his way.
By a street lamp, a group of children huddled with their hands out. Eyes too old.
"Please, sir... just a coin... Anything..."
A stranger stepped in to hush them, throwing nervous looks at the man, as if fear might keep him safe.
The man stopped. His shadow fell over the kids. They shrank on instinct when they saw his face and the iron arm. He said nothing. The quiet held. Then his flesh hand went into his cloak.
A coin flashed. Real gold. Not the kind you see twice. He flicked it. A boy snatched it midair and held it like a lifeline, stunned. The man was already walking again. No glance back. No waiting for thanks. To him, it was nothing. To them, it was weeks.
The Underworks changed as he went deeper. Market noise faded. Tunnels narrowed. Lamps thinned. Symbols marked the walls - gangs, warnings, prayers half rubbed away. Smoke and steam thickened the air.
He stopped at a small reinforced door. Not a shack. Maintained. He pushed it open and went in.
The room was tight but ordered. Iron walls patched with plate. A workbench crowded with tools and weapon guts. A single mattress in the corner. Along one rack, blades of every length waited, clean and sharp. The bulb overhead ticked and glowed warm.
He laid Raizen on the mattress. The boy stirred but did not wake up. The man then lowered the girl beside him. Her breaths were shallow, but steady. He stood a long moment, unreadable.
His mechanical arm whirred as he flexed it. Then he pulled a chair to the workbench and stripped the hand down to its bones. Screws. Plates. Tendons of cable. The rhythm of work settled over the room.
Time slid in the Underworks. No sunrise. No sunset. Only the hiss of a pipe and the buzz of a bulb.
Raizen dragged a breath and blinked awake. Pain met him first. His arm burned. His chest ached. His whole body felt crushed. For a heartbeat he was back in the village with the flames and the shadows.
Then the ceiling came into focus. Pipes ran across it. Orange light pooled on iron. Air hissed soft somewhere out of sight.
He turned his head. The girl lay close, still unconscious, chest rising slowly. The nearness set heat in his face. He looked away fast. She was alive. That fact steadied him. Relief washed through. He tried to sit and lightning ran through his ribs. He grunted and fell back.
The man sat at the bench, filling the room like a storm. He did not look over. Metal parts lay open in neat lines. He chased a tiny screw that refused the thread.
His coat was off. Scars crossed his face. An eyepatch covered more than an eye - it swallowed half his cheek on the same side as the iron arm.
A soft thud from the mattress pulled his attention, but only for a beat. He kept working. The screw fought him one more time. He let it win, stood, and turned.
His eyes met Raizen's. Dark. Unbending. Measuring.
Silence stretched. Pipes hissed. Raizen's throat felt dry. Words stuck behind fear and exhaustion. The man's gaze flicked to the girl, then back. For a fraction of a second something old moved in his face - memory or recognition - then it was gone.
"I'm surprised you're still alive, kid. But that's what matters right now."
He turned back to the bench.
Raizen looked down at the bandages on his arm and chest. His body wanted sleep. His mind would not stop. Questions crowded in and tripped over each other.
He scanned the room for answers and found a wall-sized map. Pins crowded it. Photos. Cropped faces with red Xs. Scraps of graffiti. Locations linked by red string until it looked like a web. One word appeared more than the rest.
Moirai.
On a shelf, a small framed photo of a woman sat under a cracked pane. The fracture cut across her face and stole the details. Raizen lowered his gaze.
The man's voice came again, low and steady, as if to the room more than to him.
"Rest. You'll need your strength. Tomorrow you'll understand more than you might want."
The words echoed in the tired space. Raizen looked once at the girl, then let the order be an anchor. He eased back, pressed a hand to his forehead, and tried a smile he barely felt.
Darkness pulled at the edges of his vision, softer this time. He let it come.
"Raizen..." he whispered, almost to himself. "My name is Raizen."
The man answered without turning.
"I'm Takeshi."