Another night, Amy followed the lanterns that lit Esmie’s back quickly. The high capital city melted into the slums of the outer city. Here, gutters overflowed with slush and old rice water and the air smelled of something that rot. There weren’t many people, but those who lingered here moved quickly past, as if ashamed to be seen by the light.

  Amy walked, grateful that she had been able to change out of her palatial clothes. It had been a week since she had left Aurora, and Princessa had stuck to her stubbornly, as if trying to make amends. The girl coughing softly into her sleeve from the growing stink of the outer city.

  Esmie didn’t cough at all. She moved through the crowd like she belonged to it. They passed a noodle stall where steam rose warm and sweet. A woman stirring broth glanced up, saw Esmie, and immediately looked away. Amy noted the avoiding. Esmie didn’t slow or ask for recognition. She simply took a left down an alley where the lanterns thinned and the stone changed from polished to cracked.

  Princessa grabbed Amy’s sleeve. “Are you sure we should—”

  Amy nodded, though her stomach felt unsettled. Esmie stopped under a slanted overhang and turned back.

  “You can still go,” she said quietly.

  Amy lifted her chin. “No.”

  Esmie smiled, nodding. She stepped behind a leaning stack of crates and pressed her palm to a section of wall where the stone was darker. Then, she pushed a panel that shifted with a soft scrape.

  Amy didn’t flinch as she saw a hidden door.

  Beyond it, they entered a sloping passage of cold air. The smell hit Amy first. Princessa almost hurled. There was stale water, mold, human sweat, and a sharp, acidic undertone that made her instinctively tense, like her body was warning her this way was unsafe.

  But, perhaps from Milo’s genetics, Amy wasn’t scared. She felt curiosity more than anything.

  Princessa gagged again and pressed her sleeve over her nose. In honesty, Amy almost did too. But she forced her hands to stay at her sides. And next to her, Esmie stepped in without hesitating, letting the darkness swallow her hungrily. Amy followed.

  The tunnel angled downward until the city noise above became muted and distant. It felt like Sunji had shut a door behind them. And here, Amy entered the new world of sewers. There were no lanterns anymore, only dampness and shadow. Water dripped somewhere, and the stone under Amy’s shoes was slick with algae. Where they stood hid the world that was hidden in Sunji, hiding what the average citizen turned away from seeing.

  Esmie paused and made a sound to signal she was here. Princessa flinched and yelped as something shifted in the darkness ahead. Amy’s heart clenched before she even saw them.

  Moving bodies.

  These bodies weren’t soldiers lined for war, but bodies of people folded small in corners, wrapped in cloth too thin for winter, huddled beside bundles that were all they owned.

  Eyes glowed in the distance, hungrily. Amy felt ashamed as she instinctively took a step back. It was obvious that Princessa wanted to turn back.

  “She came back,” someone whispered.

  “Really?”

  Esmie set the bundle down and untied it with practiced speed.

  “Food,” she said. “I have dried fish, rice cakes, and clean cloth.”

  For some reason, the word clean did something strange to Amy’s throat.

  The older woman crawled forward on stiff knees. Her hands trembled as she reached for the cloth, then stopped short, as if afraid to dirty it.

  Amy watched as Esmie caught her wrist gently, not flinching at the touch. “Take it.”

  The woman’s lips quivered as she snatched the materials. Behind her, a man in the back shifted, his expressions hostile. His face was gaunt, cheeks hollowed. He glared toward the tunnel mouth.

  “Who cares about food? They’ll flood again,” he said. “And we’ll die. If not today, soon.”

  Esmie’s jaw tightened. “Not if we open the gate. That’s why we’re here.”

  Amy blinked. “Gate?”

  Esmie looked back at her, and for the first time, Amy saw something like anger flicker behind her calm.

  “They sealed the inner aqueducts two months ago,” Esmie almost hissed. “The palace said it was for safety.”

  Princessa whispered, confused. “Isn’t sealing tunnels… safer?”

  “Not for them,” Esmie said, nodding toward the huddled people. “When the rains come, the water has nowhere to go. So it backs into the low tunnels, rises, and fills these pockets. Why he said flooding.”

  Amy nodded grimly. And these were the forgotten people. The ‘trash’ that the average citizen wanted to get rid of. The people who had nothing. Who made the streets look dangerous and filthy.

  A child coughed a wet sound that didn’t belong in a throat that small.

  “They told us to leave,” the older woman said. “But leave to where? The streets? The guards push us out and the temples won’t take us. So tell me. What can we do?! The people in the markets chase us away because we ‘stink.’”

  The word landed like a slap.

  “Not to mention everyone is scared of us, like we’d attack them or whatever. We just want a place to sleep, be clean, and not starve.” The woman hesitated. “Nobody knows our stories.”

  Amy’s mind flashed to the palace corridor, to the servants with their eyes glued to the floor. The way Mel’s court moved like clockwork. To the principal of order.

  But she was seeing more and more that order didn’t necessarily mean mercy. In this case, it meant distancing and separating from people like these.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Princessa pressed her sleeve tighter over her nose.

  Amy hated herself for noticing it too. She hated how her feet wanted to step away from them. Look away. Go away.

  But Esmie stood. “The gate is deeper. Past the old spillway.”

  The gaunt man’s eyes narrowed. “It’s sealed for a reason. They said disease spread through the water.”

  Esmie’s expression didn’t change, but her voice softened.

  “No, disease spreads when people are forced to live in filth,” she said. “Not because water moves.”

  He scoffed. “That’s a pretty idea from a pretty lady.”

  “It’s not an idea,” Esmie insisted. “It’s math. And you’re dying because the palace prefers the math that keeps you out of sight.”

  Silence tightened while a stomach growled. Amy felt the pressure in her chest rise, as Esmie looked at her.

  Amy nodded too fast. “Yes.”

  Esmie’s gaze flicked down briefly. “Let’s go.”

  So they ventured deeper to save the discarded people.

  The tunnel narrowed until Amy had to turn sideways in places where water lapped against her ankles, cold enough to bite. The stone walls sweated while something skittered in the dark.

  Princessa whispered, near tears, “Amy, I can’t—”

  Amy reached back without looking and took her hand. “I got you. You can’t go back alone. So don’t let go.”

  They moved until the air turned heavier and fouler. Princessa almost hurled as they reached the stagnant pocket.

  Even Amy’s body wanted to recoil. But this time she didn’t.

  Esmie looked undisturbed, maybe because the people behind them—those “mud ghosts”—had no choice but to breathe this every day.

  A faint light appeared ahead: not sunlight, but a thin gray seam where water reflected off a metal surface.

  “It’s —“ A gate. A massive, iron-barred gate, built into the tunnel like a clenched jaw. Someone had sealed it with thick wooden beams and rope-wrapped stakes hammered into place.

  Esmie knelt and ran her fingers over the rope.

  “Fresh,” she murmured. “They check it.”

  Princessa’s voice shook. “Who?”

  Amy whispered, “the people who enforce order.”

  Footsteps echoed faintly from somewhere above, distant but real. Esmie froze and pressed two fingers to her lips, making that soft call again. Amy watched a shape appear from a side passage: a boy, maybe twelve, barefoot despite the cold. He moved like smoke, eyes bright and watchful.

  He stopped when he saw Amy, his gaze hardened into suspicion. But his gaze flicked to Esmie as she said something in Sunji dialect fast. Looking at Amy again through narrowed eyes, the boy hesitated, then nodded once and disappeared again, slipping into the dark as if the tunnel had swallowed him.

  Esmie turned to Amy. “We have minutes.”

  “Why do they seal it?” Amy hissed, voice low.

  Esmie’s face didn’t shift much, but her eyes sharpened. “Because if these people die quietly in the tunnels, the streets stay clean.”

  Princessa made a small choking sound.

  Amy stared at the beams bracing the gate. This wasn’t war, like what Aurora was doing, but administration. Amy realized this was what her mother meant when she said the world buried people with math.

  Amy stepped forward. “I still have some of my parents’ magic,” she whispered. “I can—”

  “No,” Esmie snapped, quieter than a shout but harsher than a whisper. Amy flinched. “You told me you wouldn’t use it. That people get hurt with Cerceras’ dark magic. And even if that weren’t the case, we don’t win. Not like that.”

  Amy blinked.

  Esmie’s eyes flashed, fierce now. “If you break this gate with magic, the palace will blame the ‘foreign demon girl.’ They’ll take you back to your mother and hunt everyone who helped me. They’ll call it sabotage and tighten the seals. They’ll kill these people openly to prove a point.”

  That does sound like Mel. Amy swallowed. “Then what do we do?”

  Esmie took a breath, steadying herself.

  “We do it the way they can’t explain,” she said. “We do it like rats.” She gave a wry smile. “Look.” She grabbed a small iron tool from her sleeve and drove it into the rope binding the beams.

  Amy stared, thinking back to her powers. “That won’t be enough.”

  “It will be to start,” Esmie said, voice tight. “If the beams loosen, water can move. And if water moves, the pockets don’t fill. If they don’t fill—”

  “People don’t drown,” Amy finished, smiling.

  Esmie glanced at her, surprised, smiled, then nodded.

  Amy stepped in without waiting, realizing that Esmie must have been doing operations for a while.

  She took the wedge and pushed, hands sliding on wet iron. The rope was rough and soaked, stiff like it had been dipped in mud and dried. Amy’s palms burned but she pushed harder.

  Princessa hovered, trembling. “Amy—your hands—”

  But stopping didn’t even cross Amy’s mind.

  Because for the first time, the cost of mercy wasn’t theoretical. And that was exhilarating. She felt it in her skin.

  The rope snapped and one beam shifted. It wasn’t much, but a thin stream of water immediately surged through a crack at the base of the gate, hissing like it had been holding its breath.

  Esmie’s eyes widened. “There,” she whispered in a soft exclaim.

  A sound above came, sharper now as boots thundered closer.

  Esmie stiffened. “We have to go.”

  Amy’s pulse spiked. “But we’re not done.”

  Esmie grabbed her wrist, her grip was iron. “We are done enough. If you stay, you get caught. You can’t get caught.”

  Amy’s throat tightened before they ran. Back through the narrow tunnel, slipping once, catching themselves on slick stone. Princessa’s breathing turned ragged. Amy held her upright, half-dragging her when she stumbled.

  Behind them, a shout echoed, muffled but real.

  Esmie didn’t look back.

  They reached the first pocket chamber where the displaced people waited.

  Esmie stopped long enough to call softly, rapid dialect again. The old woman’s eyes widened.

  “Water will move,” Esmie said in a low voice. “Not enough. But it will. Stay higher. Keep children above the second ledge. And if you hear the bells, leave.”

  The gaunt man stared at Amy, his eyes dropping to Amy’s hands which were rope-burned and bleeding. For a moment, something in his expression softened. Like recognition.

  Esmie didn’t wait for thanks, but that wasn’t a surprise. In the week Amy had followed her, after her missions, she never did. Just went on to the next thing. The girl ushered them toward the hidden exit.

  When they stepped back into the alley, the clean city air hit Amy like a slap. And lantern light poured down like judgment. Immediately upon arrival, Amy saw it: a pair of guards turning the corner, spears in hand, eyes scanning.

  Amy saw that Esmie’s posture didn’t change. She simply stepped forward, blocking Amy’s line of sight to the guards like she’d done it a hundred times. She reached into her sleeve, pulled out a small cloth bundle, and tossed it into the gutter. It landed with a dull thud and rolled.

  The guards’ eyes snapped to it. One guard frowned. “What is that?”

  Esmie’s voice was calm. “Rotten fish. Someone’s dumping. It stinks.”

  The guard sneered, disgusted. “Filth. This district is becoming diseased.”

  Esmie inclined her head. “You should check the drains,” she said mildly. “The smell is worse from below.”

  The guard made a face. “Let the gutter men do it.”

  And with that—just like that—they moved on.

  Amy stood frozen, watching their backs disappear.

  Of course they didn’t help or even look.

  Esmie exhaled slowly, then grabbed Amy’s wrist and pulled her into a darker side passage. Only when they were out of sight did Esmie stop.

  Princessa bent over, coughing hard, looking relieved to be out of the sewers.

  Amy looked down at her hands, blood mixing with grime. She barely heard Esmie worry about getting her hand treated. Because something hot rose behind her eyes. In her small village with Kristo, there were those who were unfortunate, but they never lived like this. In the capital, walking around, it was easy for her to step by those who slumped in the streets and still call herself “good.”

  Esmie watched her quietly.

  Amy swallowed, her throat raw. “Did we… actually help?”

  Esmie didn’t soften the truth. “A little,” she said. “But they won’t have food forever. They won’t be clean forever. We didn’t do enough. And I don’t know if we can ever do enough.”

  Amy’s chest tightened.

  Esmie leaned closer, voice low. “That’s the part people don’t tell stories about.”

  Amy looked up.

  Esmie stepped back, already moving again. “Come on.”

  Amy nodded and followed. As she walked, she realized something that made her feel colder than the tunnel ever had: This mission hadn’t made her feel heroic. It had made her feel complicit. Because she had lived in a world where she could hurry past suffering without a second thought and still believe she was good. Being with Esmie wasn’t safe or comfortable, but Amy understood now that Esmie wasn’t just helping people. She was teaching Amy how to look at the world without turning away.