The basement smelled of damp stone and old wood.

Low lanterns burned along the walls, real ones, with wax and flames instead of the usual manalite ones Ryn was used to seeing.

The space was wider than expected, though clearly built to house wine instead of people.

People were already there.

A handful of dwarves sat or stood in small groups, simply waiting in silence.

They were given weird looks as they passed by but Ryn paid no attention. He set Amelia down carefully on a folded blanket near the wall. She leaned back, wincing slightly but otherwise steady.

Amelia must've noticed it too and pieced the puzzle together.

"This happens a lot," she murmured.

Before Ryn could answer, a voice spoke from behind them.

"Aye. More than folk like to admit."

Ryn turned.

A dwarf sat on a crate near the far end of the room, back against stone, a blue coat draped loosely over his shoulders. His beard was braided simply, without the normal ornaments.

A traveler, or likely a traveling merchant.

"A stampede," the dwarf continued, glancing up briefly. "Every few weeks, give or take. Depends on the season."

Ryn frowned. "You sound… unsurprised."

He closed the pack and finally looked at Ryn properly. His eyes were sharp—the kind a merchant who's worth their salt always had.

"Ain't just Moran," he said. "Same thing happens in Khaz Vordun. Difference is, they can actually fend the buggers off."

"Don't you have weapons?" Ryn asked. "At least something to push them back if this is so normal?"

The dwarf huffed softly.

"Aye. We do." He tilted his head. "But tell me—what do 'em weapons run on?"

Ryn didn't answer right away.

He didn't need to.

"…Manalite."

Ryn didn't let the silence stretch.

"How long?" he asked.

The dwarf's fingers paused on the clasp of his pack. "Long enough that folk stopped counting in days," he said.

"We measure in seasons now."

Ryn's jaw tightened. "Weeks?"

"Sometimes." The dwarf shrugged. "Sometimes months. Depends how far the wave rolls before it thins out."

"Waves," Ryn echoed.

His mind went back to Deimos, of the Stampede that happened there. Back then, it happened due to the Basilisk that was controlled via the Flute of Echoes.

Could…this be the same case?

No.

Ryn shook his head.

These were Evernight-corrupted beasts, not regular ones. Something else must be at play.

Amelia shifted. "And this happens… often?"

"Often enough that every inn worth its stone has a basement like this," he said. "Often enough that folk know which streets to avoid when the inevitable comes."

Ryn exhaled slowly. "What's causing it?"

The dwarf met his gaze.

This time, there was no confidence in his eyes.

"Don't know," he said plainly.

"No theories?"

"Plenty," the dwarf replied. "None that help you sleep."

Ryn pressed anyway. "The sea?"

"That's one of em'," he replied. "But folks are more worried about survival than the actual source."

"So…you just wait?" Amelia asked. "What happens when you run out of resources?"

The dwarf straightened his cloak before looking them dead in the eyes.

"Then we go extinct."

The dwarf didn't wait for their answer, he simply turned back and adjusted his supplies before giving some out to the others.

Amelia broke the silence first.

"…Those things," she said quietly. "They weren't normal monsters, were they?"

Ryn didn't answer immediately.

He sat across from her on the stone floor, back against the wall, arms resting loosely on his knees. The lantern light flickered between them, shadows stretching long across the basement.

"No," he said at last. "They were Evernight-corrupted."

Amelia's breath hitched.

"The Evernight?" she whispered. "The one you—"

"The one that ended humanity," Ryn finished.

Her eyes widened. "Here? How is that even possible?"

Ryn clenched his jaw.

"That's the problem."

"First, it was the fish and Kraken," he continued. "Now it's the whole nation being torn apart, forced to live in hiding because of these things."

He looked up, toward the ceiling. Toward the city above them.

"Back then," he continued, "the Evernight caused frenzies. Creatures lost restraint as they looked up. The night warped itself around them, turning instinct into madness."

Amelia gasped.

"Is that why Dheam was—?"

Ryn nodded.

"With the drug, they couldn't control their urges."

He placed a hand on his face.

"I just—I just thought we could change it somehow."

"But I was wrong."

"...It wasn't your fault–"

Ryn raised a hand to cut her off.

"I've already moved on from it."

They stayed in silence for a while before Amelia whispered again.

"But how? There isn't any night?" Amelia said.

"No," Ryn agreed. "That's what doesn't make sense."

But as soon as he said that, a realization clicked, like finally knowing which door the key led to.

"…Manalite," he murmured.

Amelia tilted her head. "What?"

"Manalite holds Essence," he said. "That's why it's used as a catalyst and everything runs on it."

She nodded. "I know that."

Ryn swallowed.

"What if…the Evernight wasn't just a phenomenon?" he asked. "What if… we knew about it the entire time?"

Amelia's eyes widened slightly.

"You're thinking they hold some type of Essence that makes the monsters go feral?"

Ryn nodded once. "If manalite was ever exposed to it, then it wouldn't need the sky anymore."

The words felt wrong as he said them.

"…if this is true, then that means the Cult already has a way to access the Evernight?" Amelia asked, her hand visibly shaking.

Ryn nodded once.

All he could do was hope they didn't.

But…

"Yeah," he finally answered.

After a while, the distant scraping of claws faded. The low, constant vibration beneath the stone eased until it was barely there at all.

Footsteps approached the basement stairs.

The innkeeper appeared at the top, lantern in hand, eyes sharp as he scanned the room.

"…Alright," he said finally. "They've moved on."

No one cheered.

A few dwarves stood. Others stretched stiff limbs or gathered their packs without comment.

It was sort of uncanny how routine things were.

"The streets'll be clear enough for now," the innkeeper continued. "Best not linger below longer than needed."

Ryn rose slowly, helping Amelia to her feet. She leaned on him, still limping from her good leg.

Above them, the city reopened.

Shutters creaked back. Doors unlocked. Life resumed as if it had only paused to catch its breath.

Ryn set Amelia back down on her bed as both of them looked out at the bleak gray skies.

The streets were destroyed, walls collapsed, and people scared.

Moran wasn't a city…they were lambs slowly bleeding out.

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