Chapter 227 — Back to Ten, and Down Again

Chapter 227: Chapter 227 — Back to Ten, and Down Again

Arlen pushed to Floor Fourteen’s edge first, curious enough that he wasn’t willing to turn back without at least seeing it — wide, kelp-choked water, promising something considerably larger than anything Thirteen had offered. He didn’t press further. Just confirmed it, satisfied with the glimpse, and turned around.

Enough to know what’s waiting. Now the rest of this.

His stored space was heavier than it had any business being — a Crystal Turtle shell from the stone formations near Eleven’s edge, a full set of Riverfang Crocodile hide, Ironclaw Lobster fragments, a scattering of smaller materials besides. More than any trader this deep could reasonably move.

The backtrack took the better part of two days, Thirteen’s maze passages familiar enough now that he moved through them considerably faster than his first pass. A solitary Abyssal Pike tested him once along the way, more out of territorial habit than any real threat, and he ended the exchange without breaking stride.

He stopped at Twelve’s waystation long enough to offer the trader first pick.

"I’ll take what I can," the trader said, examining the lobster fragments with real interest, turning each piece over with the same careful attention he’d shown on Arlen’s last visit. "Fair warning, though — I can’t move this volume the way a bigger market could. You’ll want Floor Ten for the rest."

"I figured as much."

"No harm in trying me first. I’ll still give you an honest price on what I can use." He worked through a portion of the pile, counting out payment with unhurried precision, and nodded toward the remainder still sitting in Arlen’s pack. "Rest’s yours to carry up top."

Arlen sold what the man could use, ate a proper meal at the waystation’s familiar common room, and pressed on through Eleven the following morning, the kelp forest’s open water passing beneath him with the same steady confidence it had carried the whole trip.

He surfaced at Floor Ten’s ramp that evening, the settlement’s warm, impossible light greeting him with the same strange, familiar comfort it always offered, and made his way directly to the market rather than bothering with a proper rest first.

The merchant he found dealt in exactly the kind of bulk material he was still carrying, a broad-shouldered woman with calloused hands and an easy, practical manner he remembered fondly from previous visits.

"Crystal Turtle," she said, turning the shell over with genuine interest. "Don’t see much of this up this way. Where’d you find it?"

"Floor Eleven, near some old stone formations past the kelp forest. Found it on my way through."

"Huh. Good hunting ground, apparently." She weighed it properly, named a fair price, and moved on to the crocodile hide with the same brisk efficiency. "This is quality work. Clean kill, no wasted damage to the material."

"I try to be careful about it."

"Shows." She worked through the rest of it steadily, the pile shrinking as his coin purse grew, and paused partway through to examine a particularly large section of lobster shell with open curiosity. "You’re pulling a lot of this from Twelve’s lake and Eleven’s deeper stretches. Most solo divers don’t bother with the lake at all — too much trouble for too little obvious reward."

"I had a few days to spare. Figured I’d make use of them properly."

"Good instinct. Most people rush past the parts of this place that aren’t actively trying to kill them." She finished her count, and the final sum that landed in his hand was considerably more than Twelve’s smaller market could have offered.

He ate a proper meal afterward at his usual stall, the vendor greeting him with the same easy recognition he’d grown used to.

"Back again," the vendor said. "You’ve been making good time, from the look of things."

"Trying to. Floor Thirteen’s maze tunnels took longer than I planned, but I’m through it now."

"Maze tunnels." The vendor whistled low. "Not many solo travelers bother with those properly. Most just push through as fast as they can and don’t look back."

"I didn’t have much choice. Chamber geometry didn’t leave room for shortcuts."

"Fair enough." The vendor slid his portion across, and Arlen ate slowly, watching the settlement’s ordinary business carry on around him exactly as it always did — merchants arguing good-naturedly over prices, a cartographer updating a chart at her usual stall, children chasing each other near the river’s edge.

He found a room at the inn that evening, and slept properly, grateful for a real bed after days of careful, cramped camps.

He spent the following morning simply restocking — fresh rations, a handful of supplies for the stretch ahead — and stopped by the guild outpost out of routine more than need.

"Maps still haven’t caught up to that maze properly," the clerk said, pulling the Region III chart for him and spreading it across the counter. "If you’ve got notes worth adding, the outpost takes submissions. Helps whoever comes through after you."

He spent a half hour sketching out what he remembered, nothing close to a proper survey, just enough rough detail that it might save the next traveler a wrong turn — which junctions led nowhere useful, where the Riverfang Crocodile had claimed its territory, the general shape of the passage before it finally widened out again.

"More than most people bother submitting," the clerk said, reviewing it with genuine approval. "I’ll pass it along properly."

"Hope it’s useful to someone."

"It will be. Half the complaints I hear are from people who got turned around in exactly that stretch." She rolled the chart back up and filed his notes alongside it.

He spent the rest of the day resting, no particular urgency pressing him toward anything, and found himself, sitting by the river’s edge watching the settlement’s warm, false daylight shift slowly toward its evening rhythm, content with the pace he’d settled into. A pair of children ran past chasing some invented game, their laughter carrying easily over the market’s ordinary hum, and he watched them a while, simply enjoying the strange, impossible ordinariness of a city that had no business existing this deep beneath the world.

He wrote briefly that evening, mostly practical.

Back at Ten. Sold what Twelve’s trader couldn’t take, restocked properly, submitted some rough notes on the maze tunnels. Heading back down tomorrow — Fourteen’s waiting properly this time.

He closed the journal, and let the settlement’s familiar, warm quiet settle around him one final evening before the descent resumed.