The capital looked different in the morning.
At night, the city became a sea of lanterns and movement, beautiful in the way dangerous things often were. The streets glowed gold beneath hanging lights while voices and music blurred together into something alive and restless. Darkness hid the cracks in the walls, the stains beneath the bridges, the tiredness in the faces of workers returning home long after midnight.
Morning exposed everything again.
The light was pale when Zynar opened the window of his rented room.
Thin sunlight stretched across the rooftops beyond the inn while the city slowly climbed back into motion below. Merchants were already opening street stalls. Early carriage traffic rolled across the stone roads beneath drifting fog. Somewhere nearby, someone was arguing loudly about delivery schedules before breakfast had even properly begun.
Ordinary city sounds.
Zynar stood near the window in silence for several moments.
The room behind him was simple. A bed. A wooden table. A narrow cabinet beside the wall. Nothing expensive. Nothing especially comfortable. He had chosen the inn because it sat between multiple districts without attracting attention, not because it offered luxury.
That suited him.
The academy dorms had always felt temporary.
This felt temporary too.
But different.
Here, nobody monitored where he walked unless he gave them reason to.
Nobody watched his movements through academy expectations or whispered theories about his eyes every time he crossed a corridor.
The capital noticed strange things constantly.
That made it easier for strange people to disappear inside it.
Zynar closed the window and stepped away from the light.
His thoughts drifted briefly toward the previous day's encounter.
Selene Velkros.
The branch family daughter.
Young.
Composed.
And carrying something behind her existence that his demonic eyes had noticed immediately.
He still had not decided what exactly to make of that.
The encounter itself had been brief, but unusual enough to remain in his thoughts longer than most interactions did.
Not because of emotion.
Because of inconsistency.
Very few things escaped his notice once seen properly.
Selene had.
Or rather, whatever surrounded her had.
That alone made her important.
Zynar adjusted the sleeves of his dark coat before leaving the room.
The inn's lower floor was quieter than the streets outside.
Several travelers sat near the corner tables eating breakfast while a tired-looking server moved between them carrying tea and bread. Near the entrance, two merchants were discussing shipment taxes in increasingly irritated voices while an older woman ignored them entirely and continued reading a newspaper beside the wall lantern.
Zynar crossed the room without drawing much attention.
Until one of the merchants looked up.
The man's expression tightened for a fraction of a second after noticing the eyes.
Then he quickly looked away again.
Predictable.
Zynar stepped outside into the morning streets.
The Lantern District was calmer during daylight.
At night, the district transformed into one of the busiest entertainment zones in the capital, crowded with music halls, restaurants, noble gathering houses, and illuminated canals lined with floating lights. During the day, however, the area carried a quieter atmosphere. Workers cleaned the streets. Stall owners prepared for evening business. Supply wagons crossed the roads while performers practiced routines before the crowds arrived later.
The district was beautiful in an intentional way.
Everything had been designed to feel elegant.
Decorative stone bridges curved over narrow canals reflecting pale morning light. Hanging lantern chains stretched between buildings overhead even while unlit. Painted signs swayed gently in the wind while flower arrangements decorated windows and balconies across the upper streets.
Zynar walked slowly through the district.
Not wandering aimlessly.
Observing.
The capital revealed more when people stopped treating it like scenery.
A pair of young nobles passed nearby discussing vacation travel plans.
Further ahead, a delivery worker nearly collided with a street cleaner and muttered several curses under his breath before continuing.
A group of children ran across a side bridge chasing each other while one nearly fell into the canal after slipping on wet stone.
The city moved constantly.
But beneath the movement, Zynar noticed patterns.
Guard patrols changed routes near the eastern canal intersections.
Several streets had hidden surveillance wards carved subtly into decorative pillars.
And more importantly—
Certain alleyways carried traces of corrupted residue faint enough that ordinary people would never notice them.
Zynar's gaze shifted briefly toward one narrow passage between two older buildings.
The residue there was weak.
Old.
Not enough to matter immediately.
Still, it confirmed something important.
The dungeon incident had not been isolated.
The capital already carried traces of similar corruption long before the academy attack occurred.
Interesting.
He spent most of the morning moving through connected districts.
The Lantern District blended gradually into the older market quarters farther south where the architecture became tighter and less refined. Wealthy plazas gave way to crowded merchant roads lined with layered storefronts and tangled overhead wiring for street lantern systems.
The smell changed too.
Less perfume and flower arrangements.
More cooked food, smoke, dust, oil, and metal.
Zynar preferred this part of the city.
People here paid less attention to appearances.
Near midday, he stopped beside a street vendor selling grilled meat skewers beneath a faded cloth canopy.
The vendor looked up.
"What'll it be?"
"Whatever's fresh."
The man barked a laugh. "Then you've got confidence."
Several minutes later, Zynar leaned lightly against a nearby wall eating in silence while watching the market continue around him.
A city guard patrol crossed the intersection.
A beggar slept beneath a staircase arch.
Two women argued over fabric prices loud enough for half the street to hear.
Nothing unusual.
At least on the surface.
Then Zynar noticed a symbol.
It had been carved faintly into the underside of a nearby wooden support beam near the alley entrance across the road.
Small.
Easy to miss.
A broken circular marking surrounding incomplete lines.
Not identical to the cult markings from the dungeon.
But close enough.
Zynar's eyes narrowed slightly.
The symbol had been scratched recently.
He crossed the street without hurry and stopped near the alley.
The passage itself was narrow and dim even during daytime, lined with stacked storage crates and old drainage pipes along the walls.
No obvious movement.
No visible threat.
But the corrupted residue here was fresher.
Someone connected to the dungeon cult had passed through recently.
Zynar stepped into the alley.
The sounds of the market softened behind him.
Farther ahead, the alley curved between older buildings before opening into a smaller side district crowded with layered walkways and hanging laundry lines overhead.
The residue continued.
Faint.
But consistent enough to follow.
Interesting.
The trail led him through parts of the capital ordinary travelers rarely noticed properly.
Narrow stairways hidden between apartment blocks.
Forgotten shrine corners beneath broken rooftops.
Old merchant paths no longer used by official traffic.
The deeper he moved, the older the city began to feel.
These sections predated the cleaner noble districts and newer commercial expansions. The stone here carried centuries of weather damage. Several walls leaned slightly from age while faded religious carvings remained half-visible beneath moss and dirt.
People still lived here.
But quietly.
A woman carrying water buckets glanced toward Zynar once before lowering her gaze immediately after noticing his eyes.
An elderly man smoking near a stairwell stiffened visibly as he passed.
Children stopped talking when he entered one particular courtyard.
Then resumed only after he left.
Zynar ignored all of it.
The residue became stronger near the lower canal routes.
Eventually, he reached a small prayer shrine built into the wall beneath an old bridge.
The structure looked abandoned.
Dust covered the stone offerings near the base, and several prayer ribbons hung faded and torn from years of neglect.
Yet the corrupted markings beneath the shrine were fresh.
Zynar crouched slightly.
Someone had carved another broken-eye symbol into the back stone recently enough that the dust had not settled fully into the grooves yet.
Interesting.
A sound interrupted his thoughts.
Footsteps.
Soft.
Quick.
Zynar looked up just in time to catch movement disappearing around the far canal corner.
A hooded figure.
Watching him.
Then leaving immediately after realizing it had been noticed.
Zynar stood.
The chase began without words.
The lower canal district twisted like a maze.
Bridges crossed over dark water channels while narrow roads curved unpredictably between old structures crowded close together. Laundry lines hung overhead. Pipes dripped steadily into drainage canals below.
The hooded figure moved quickly through the district.
Zynar followed at a controlled pace.
Not rushing recklessly.
Tracking.
The figure clearly knew the area well. It cut through side alleys and hidden stairways with practiced familiarity while keeping enough distance to avoid immediate confrontation.
Interesting.
Not trained like an assassin.
More like a courier.
Eventually the figure disappeared through a crowded market lane filled with afternoon foot traffic.
Zynar slowed slightly.
The corrupted residue vanished almost immediately among the surrounding people.
Deliberate.
Someone had planned escape routes here.
Zynar stopped near the edge of the crowd.
Several pedestrians moved around him cautiously after noticing the eyes.
A child stared too long before being quickly pulled away by his mother.
Zynar ignored them.
The trail was gone for now.
But not completely.
He had learned enough already to confirm organization beneath the surface of the capital.
The cult—or something connected to it—was operating here quietly.
And now they knew someone was following the traces.
By late afternoon, the city shifted again.
The Lantern District awakened properly as evening approached.
Workers lit the first hanging lanterns while restaurants opened their outer seating areas along the canals. Musicians appeared near bridges and plazas. Crowds thickened rapidly beneath the warm evening glow spreading across the district.
The capital became beautiful again.
Dangerously beautiful.
Zynar walked through the evening crowds with his usual detached composure.
No urgency showed in his expression despite the discoveries earlier.
That was one of the things that unsettled people most about him.
He moved through situations the same way others walked through weather.
Calm.
Unreadable.
Near one of the upper canal bridges, a noble carriage slowed unexpectedly as traffic shifted around the evening crowds.
The curtains inside moved slightly.
Selene Velkros looked out through the opening.
Her gaze found Zynar almost immediately among the moving streets below.
For a moment, she simply watched him.
He looked different here than he had at the academy.
Less confined.
More distant somehow.
As though the city fit him more naturally than organized academy corridors ever had.
One of the attendants seated across from her noticed the direction of her attention.
"The academy student again?" the woman asked carefully.
Selene remained quiet for a second.
Then nodded slightly.
"You know him?" the attendant asked.
Selene's jade-green eyes remained on Zynar's figure below.
"Not yet," she said softly.
The carriage continued moving.
But Selene kept watching until the crowd finally swallowed him from sight.
Night settled fully across the capital.
Lantern light reflected over the canals like broken rivers of gold while voices and music echoed between the crowded streets. Restaurants overflowed with travelers and merchants. Noble gatherings filled upper balconies overlooking the entertainment districts.
The city felt alive.
And beneath that life, hidden carefully beneath ordinary movement—
Something rotten breathed quietly in the dark.
Zynar returned eventually to the older lower districts near the canal routes.
Not because he had recovered the trail completely.
Because instinct told him the corrupted residue concentrated strongest here.
The crowds thinned gradually the farther he moved from the main entertainment roads.
Music faded.
The lanterns became fewer.
Buildings grew older again.
At some point, the city stopped feeling festive.
It began feeling watched.
Zynar noticed the silence first.
Not complete silence.
But the unnatural kind created when people avoided certain streets without consciously realizing why.
The lower corridor ahead carried almost no foot traffic despite connecting two active districts.
Interesting.
He continued forward.
The stone beneath his boots became damp from underground canal moisture. Old shrine carvings lined parts of the walls, worn nearly smooth by time.
Then—
He heard chanting.
Faint.
Distant.
Echoing somewhere beneath the streets.
Zynar stopped walking.
The sound was low enough that ordinary people passing nearby would likely mistake it for underground water movement or distant city noise.
But it was there.
Rhythmic.
Measured.
A prayer.
His gaze shifted toward a narrow stairway descending beside an abandoned storage building.
The chanting came from below.
Without hesitation, Zynar descended.
The underground corridors beneath the capital were older than the districts above them.
That became obvious immediately.
The walls here carried ancient stonework half-covered in moisture and moss while narrow support arches stretched overhead at uneven intervals. Parts of the tunnel looked originally constructed as drainage systems before later modifications expanded sections into hidden pathways beneath the city.
The air smelled wrong.
Rotting incense.
Wet stone.
Something metallic beneath it.
Blood.
The chanting grew clearer as Zynar moved deeper underground.
Still fragmented by distance.
Still impossible to fully understand.
But unmistakably ritualistic.
Several passages branched away into darkness, though the corrupted residue concentrated strongest along the central route.
Zynar followed it calmly.
No fear.
No hesitation.
The tunnel eventually widened into a forgotten underground prayer corridor lined with blackened stone pillars. Ancient religious carvings along the walls had been scratched over repeatedly until the original symbols became unrecognizable beneath layers of newer markings.
Candles flickered somewhere ahead.
The chanting grew louder.
Now he could hear fragments clearly.
"...beyond flesh..."
"...offer the breathing vessel..."
"...holy corruption descend..."
The voices overlapped unnaturally inside the underground hall.
Zynar stepped closer.
The corridor ended at a massive wooden prayer door bound in black iron chains and marked with corrupted symbols carved deeply into the surface.
Behind it—
Screaming.
Muffled.
Human.
The chanting intensified immediately afterward.
Zynar stood silently before the door.
The underground air felt heavy with corruption.
Inside, dozens of voices continued praying in distorted unison.
"...may the sleepless heavens open..."
"...may the offering be accepted..."
"...beyond death..."
The sacrifice screamed again.
Weakly this time.
Then coughing.
Zynar's expression did not change.
But the atmosphere around him became colder.
He stepped toward the door.
The chains rattled softly from the movement.
Inside, the chanting continued uninterrupted.
They had not noticed him yet.
One hand rose slowly toward the corrupted entrance.
The black iron chains trembled slightly beneath his grip.
Then—
He pulled.
The sound exploded through the underground corridor.
Wood cracked violently.
Iron snapped apart.
The massive prayer doors burst inward beneath overwhelming force, slamming against the chamber walls hard enough to extinguish several candles instantly.
The chanting stopped.
Every voice died at once.
Inside the underground hall, dozens of corrupted priests froze in shock around a massive ritual formation painted across the stone floor in blood-black markings.
Candles flickered violently.
A bound sacrifice lay near the center of the chamber.
And every corrupted priest turned toward the shattered doorway.
The underground prayer hall fell silent as every corrupted priest turned toward the doorway.
And standing beneath the shattered remains of the entrance, Zynar looked at them without emotion.
[End of Chapter 37]