Thunder Hollow

Arnem´s Sector One was definitely a contrast to the shadowed paths Ed and Iris had traveled. As they crossed through the gate, the darkness lifted, replaced by the steady glow of well-lit and spaced-out streets. The houses weren´t new; however, they were well-built and clean, with no shadows. Every streetlamp shone brightly even as the sun had nearly risen.

They continued through, moving past rows of homes. Soon, they reached a small unassuming bar tucked between two larger buildings at an intersection. The wooden sign above the door read "Thunder Hollow", and creaked gently in the morning breeze. Ed pushed the door open and they stepped inside. 

It was dimly lit, with the faint smell of coffee and alcohol lingering. The interior consisted of a few wooden tables and chairs scattered across a stone floor, with a long bar counter running along one side. A few flickering lights were placed hastily on the tables, casting long shadows along the walls. Behind the counter, a woman was busy cleaning mugs. She looked over at them as they entered. 

"You brought a customer?" she asked. 

"Trap´s crew," Ed muttered and sat down on one of the high-raised stools. "She´ll be working here for a while."

Her lips curled into a smirk as she saw Iris´ flushed face. "With that smug look, she´ll scare off customers instead."

"We gotta work on that," Ed admitted. 

Iris narrowed her eyes, still panting a little bit. Before she could retort, though, another figure stepped out from the row of tables in front of her. He was tall and lean, with an air of quiet menace. He extended his hand towards Iris. 

"Iron?" he said, and then smiled. 

Iris felt surprised she had not noticed the man in the room earlier. Had he been sitting there this whole time? His eyes, dark and piercing, fixed on her, making the hairs on the back of Iris´ neck stand on end. 

"Replicant," she muttered through gritted teeth. She didn´t shake the hand. 

"You´re sharp. Your name?" he said. She shot him a glare. 

"Vi."

Ed raised an eyebrow. Iris rolled her eyes. 

"Iris Forger."

"Enough, Finn," Ed said. The man, Finn, shrugged, his eyes now warmer, and more welcoming. He smiled again. 

Ed gestured for her to follow him up a narrow staircase at the far end of the room. They climbed the creaky wooden stairs and Ed led her down a short hallway to a small, plain room. Inside was a simple bed, a dresser, a table, and a window that looked out over the quiet street intersection below. It was the bare minimum, but to Iris, it felt like a luxury. 

"Go ahead and rest. The room´s all yours," he said. With a short nod, he closed the door behind him and left. 

Iris instantly assured that the door was fully locked, then dashed around the room, looking under the bed, in the cupboard, and even behind the thick curtains, for signs of danger. When she found no one, and nothing, she finally sat on the bed, not knowing if she should trust them or not. 

The voice in her head was surely telling her not to. But just then the tiredness finally came rushing back to her and she fell asleep. 

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Edward and Iris walked through the dark cobblestone streets on the same night. He led her away from the bar and into the bustling heart of Arnem. That part of the sector was filled with shops that sold everything from fresh bread and spices to finely crafted tools and jewelry. It was past closing hour, and most vendors were packing in for the night, some in a hurry. 

Soon, they walked along a narrow alley and reached a small, unassuming shop down a short flight of stairs, tucked into a corner almost out of view. 

Inside, it was a labyrinth of shelves and counters piled up high. The scent of old parchment was filled with the tang of herbs and the faint, metallic scent of something else that Iris could not quite put a finger on. She also noticed some odd electronic devices, even weapons, and tiny clockwork devices. 

"What is this place?" she asked. 

"They sell all kinds of things here, everything from common goods like spices to items that are . . . less conventional. It´s a place where castaway Technomancers, Replicants, and those who aren´t tied to the nobility can find what they need."

A man emerged from the back of the shop, his hair a wild tangle of grey and white, his eyes sharp and shrewd. 

"Fresh blood?" he said to Ed, looking over to the girl. 

Ed nodded. 

"Which mixture do you need today? Gotta warn you, I´m almost out of Iron."

"All of them," he replied smoothly. "And also, a cloak."

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. "You don´t say . . ." he said slowly, but didn´t pry further. Instead, he disappeared into the back room, returning moments later with a sleek, dark cloak along with a vial filled with powdery flakey tablets, the same kind as Ed had given Iris before.

They paid and left, the now desolate streets of Arnem stretching out before them once more. Shadows clung to the narrow alleys, and the streetlights barely penetrated the thick mists that seemed to hang in the air like a shroud. The only sounds were a faint, distant clatter of boots on cobblestones and the faint, metallic scrape of weapons rubbing against one another. 

Golden Obsidian swords. The mark of the king´s soldiers. 

Iris shivered slightly, pulling her new Replicant cloak tighter around her shoulders. The fabric almost seemed to absorb the light, blending her into the darkness. 

Edward led her through the winding roads, cautious but calm at the same time. They returned to the pub undetected but didn´t go inside. Instead, Ed guided Iris towards a narrow hidden stairwell tucked out of view behind the basement door on the left. 

The end of the staircase led to a massive underground web of tunnels and paths, sewing their way around as far as the eyes could see. Where they now stood, there was ample free space, stretched out like a small arena. 

Perfect for practice, she thought. 

The air was cool and damp. It was a stark contrast to the world above, a sanctuary hidden from prying eyes. 

"Is this because of the Prowlers?" Iris found herself asking.

"Partly," Ed said. "We didn´t construct this. We believe it was the Monarch, but hardly anyone knows this place exists. We mainly use it for practice. And for hiding extra barrels of wine."

Iris thought about the bar above, a place probably filled with rogue rebels not tied to the king in any way, like Ed. And now the huge network of interlinked paths located completely in the underground. Just what kind of place was she in? And who were these people?

And, she thought. They also seem so trusting of one another. 

"No, a facade," she whispered. Nobody trusts anyone else this much. Not here in Arnem. Throwing oneself into the hands of another is the quickest way to die. 

Ed handed her a few tablets and she swallowed them whole. 

"Now, basics," he said. "First off, remember what I said before. You are not immortal, far from it. The elements are just technological tools, alright?"

Iris merely nodded. 

"Good, do you feel your reserves?"

Iris peeked inside and could distinguish five huge sources. "Yes."

"Good," Ed said. "Let us begin."