The Veil

It was remarkably warm in the underground society, as the source of it came from the giant furnaces near to the entrance, being worked at tirelessly by blacksmiths who relentlessly pounded steel with their hammers. 

As he walked onto the wooden floored street of the cavernous city, he leaned to the side a bit as sparks flew from the repeated slams of the blacksmiths' hammers–CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. The jarring sound repeatedly struck his ears, though he continued along. 

'Well, it's as energetic as ever down here,' he thought as he kept moving. 

There were bare establishments without walls, all running seamlessly together; one of which was a bar built into the wall to his left. It also served as a gathering for adventurers, who filled the tables and drank booze while loudly proclaiming their accomplishments. 

"Didja hear?! Worlo took down a wyvern!" 

"Bullshit! I bet that runt hasn't even touched the eighth floor!" 

"Saw it with my own eyes!" 

The bickering and laughter of the intoxicated adventurers was the natural ambience near the bar area, along with the aroma of mead–a strong, fruit-like smell that mingled with the powerful smell of hot steel that came from the blacksmith quarters. 

He found himself having to carefully maneuver through the area, with people coming-and-going in every direction busily. By the shoddy clothes and young age most were, he knew what their occupation and tasks were; the youth carried notes, delivering them to the hands of awaiting members of the Veil. 

'Listeners. The bread and butter of the Veil; just about every kid not born into a well-off family in this city works for the Veil, acting as the eyes and ears around the city,' he thought. 

A small bridge arched over a flowing stream that ran through the underground territory, meeting his ears with the sound of rampant water. Despite the enclosed scenery of pale, chalky stone of the cavernous environment, or perhaps because of it, the Veil felt peaceful in a way; away from the prying eyes of the city above. 

It was a place without judgment, as most people there came from nothing, born without any gifts, yet found their place in the boundless opportunities it provided. 

"Bast! I thought you kicked it!" 

A boisterous voice called out to him loudly, bringing him to turn his gaze to the side as he found himself looking at a tall, well-built man with a scruffy beard and shoddy armor that was a mix of leather and dented steel. 

"If any of us is croaking first, it's you, Roy," Bastian replied, greeting the ponytail-wearing man. 

His response earned a small laugh from the jovial man, who placed his hands on his sides, one of which was fully made of steel, yet moved seamlessly as if of flesh. There was no doubt the man was an adventurer, especially with the four sets of swords sheathed on his hip[s, hanging from his leather belt. 

"I can't deny that. If you aren't living life on the edge, then what's the point? There's nothing to make life more valuable than putting it on the line," Roy claimed with a smile, holding his metallic hand up as his split, black cape swayed. 

"I think a lot of people would argue against that, but you do you. Anyway, what's up?" Bastian asked. 

Roy leaned against the side of the bridge, overlooking the lively stream, "I was actually sent to look for you. Saved me a hassle, so thanks."

"Sent for me? Did Bilo send you?" Bastian asked, "I know they had something to discuss with me, but I didn't think it was that urgent." 

"Well, the Boss seems to think so, so best move with some haste," Roy told him as he tapped his own fist against his chest before taking his leave, "Live free." 

"Live free," Bastian repeated the saying, doing the same gesture as he placed his hand over his heart, though not with much enthusiasm. 

Now his curiosity was piqued, if the metal-armed adventurer himself was sent to retrieve him for whatever it was that he needed to hear. The society beneath the surface was quite extensive; he passed over the bridge, going through a market of wares being sold that were either illegally obtained or illegal to sell. 

A twirly-mustache merchant stood with his rich, silken vest, accompanied by a couple sellswords with a display of enchanted weapons; swords etched with fiery seals, shields imbued with magic-negating power, and even a dagger that the merchant displayed, capable of waving around in the air without a touch. 

"Ah, Bastian! Can I interest you in any of my wares today?" The merchant called out to him just as the young man was passing by. 

He came to a stop as he glanced over, looking at the greedy man who twirled his own facial hair with fingers each bearing exuberant rings of their own. 

"Sorry, but I think I'll pass," Bastian declined. 

"Ah, perhaps another day then," the owner of the enchanted gear said, maintaining his smile. 

As he moved along through the merchant alley, he found himself now surrounded by the aroma of fresh, hot-and-ready food, as a mixture of savory and sweet flooded his senses. 

Though it was tempting, he remembered his agreement with his friend, pushing onward as he left the line of underground restaurants. 

There was a neighborhood of homes, some built directly into the stone, some made of the rocky, pale-gray material, or others of light-brown wood. Children played around the homes, running about freely. 

Eventually, he passed by it all, following a set of stone-carved steps that led up to a single room that overlooked the Veil, built into the hide of the cavern itself. A metal door stood between him and the room, which he knocked on a few times–

"Come in," a feminine voice called out from behind the door. 

He pressed his hand against the thick, steel door, pushing it open as he entered the room. It was a cramped chamber, somehow both disorganized and organized at the same time, as maps were pinned to the walls and books littered the floor. 

Standing in the room, inspecting one of the maps with their back turned to him was a girl, small in stature, with short, silver hair. On the top of her head were two, fluffy ears of a feline that moved at the sound of the visiting adventurer's footsteps. 

"Took you long enough," she said, turning around to face him as her scarlet eyes locked onto the young man. 

The girl was pale, seeming to spend most of her time in the underground by the looks of it, wearing a black-and-brown cloak that draped over her baggy, oak jacket. 

"It's not exactly a small place. It gets bigger every time I see it," Bastian replied as he walked around the room, being cautious as not to step on any of the books or documents on the floor, "You've really built the Veil into its own city, Bilo." 

"It's not easy to manage, but someone has to do it. Anyway, seeing as you're alive in one piece, I'm guessing you got through the dungeon without a hitch?" Bilo asked, walking over to the table in the center of the room that was littered with documents and trinkets. 

By the bags under the young woman's eyes, it seemed as though sleep was a mere suggestion for herself. She gathered some of the loose documents, shuffling them together and straightening them out as he watched. 

He picked up one of the books laying around–"Archive of the Eleventh Floor"--glancing at it and setting it down before he responded, "I did, but your info almost got me killed." 

"Oh?" Bilo looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. 

"Yeah, a few skeletons were present in an area you said was clear. Luckily, I got past them but it could've gone bad," he told her. 

Bilo smiled, lifting her hands as if shrugging it off, "Dungeons are unpredictable. Things move. You made it through, that's all that matters. And my cut?" 

"Yeah, yeah," Bastian mumbled as he flicked a silver coin over to the girl. 

The silver-haired, lithe woman caught it with one hand, pocketing it with a small smirk, "Nice doing business with ya'. Anyway, I've got something I need to discuss with you–a contract."