Chapter 4
1335 Words
The hotel was quiet long before dawn. The Underkin had been given rooms—strange rooms with soft beds, glowing lamps, and windows that looked out onto a world they did not understand. Most of them had fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion, their bodies finally giving in after the night’s terror.
But Kesh couldn’t sleep.
He lay beside Corin, listening to her steady breathing, watching the unfamiliar shadows on the ceiling. Everything felt too open, too bright, too loud. The air smelled different. The walls felt wrong. And the silence—this strange surface‑world silence—was nothing like the deep, comforting quiet of the tunnels.
He slipped out of bed.
Corin didn’t stir. She had barely slept in days, and now that she finally had a moment of rest, Kesh didn’t want to disturb her. He padded across the carpet, the softness strange under his bare feet. The door to the hallway was heavy, but he managed to pull it open just enough to squeeze through. The corridor was dim, lit by small lights along the floor. He walked slowly, touching the walls, the lamps, the strange patterned carpet. Everything fascinated him.
At the end of the corridor was a door with a glowing green sign above it. He didn’t know what Exit meant, but he recognised a handle, and curiosity tugged at him stronger than caution.
He pushed it open.
Cold air rushed in, crisp and fresh. He stepped outside onto a small concrete landing. The world was still dark, but not completely—there was a faint glow on the horizon, a soft colour he had never seen before.
Kesh froze.
The sky was changing.
Slowly, gently, the darkness thinned. A pale ribbon of gold stretched across the edge of the world. The clouds caught fire—not the violent fire of the burning house, but a warm, quiet fire that didn’t hurt. Colours he had no names for spilled across the sky: pink, orange, lavender, gold.
His mouth fell open.
He had never seen the sun.
He had never even imagined something like this.
The world brightened by the second, the light touching the tops of trees, the roofs of buildings, the road below. Birds began to sing—another sound he had never heard—and their voices filled the air like tiny bells.
Kesh stepped forward until he reached the railing. He gripped it with both hands, leaning out as though he could get closer to the rising light.
It was beautiful.
It was enormous.
It was alive.
He felt warmth on his face, gentle and soft. Nothing like the heat of the fire. This warmth felt kind. It felt safe. Behind him, the door opened quietly.
“Kesh?”
Corin’s voice was still thick with sleep, but when she saw him standing at the railing, she hurried forward. “You shouldn’t wander off,” she said, pulling her robe tighter around herself.
But when she followed his gaze, her words faded.
The sunrise washed over them both.
Corin had seen light before—lamps, torches, the glow of molten stone—but never this. Never the sky opening itself to the world. Never the sun rising like a promise.
Kesh looked up at her. “Is this… the Above?”
Corin swallowed, her eyes reflecting the colours of the dawn. “Yes,” she whispered. “This is the Above.”
“It’s… beautiful.”
Corin placed a hand on his shoulder. “It is.”
They stood together in silence, watching the sun climb higher, painting the world in gold. For the first time since leaving the tunnels, Kesh felt something other than fear.
He felt wonder.
And Corin, despite everything they had lost, felt the faintest spark of hope.
The sun climbed higher, warming the hotel’s eastern wall. Corin and Kesh remained on the small landing, watching the sky shift from gold to soft blue. Kesh leaned forward over the railing, his eyes wide, drinking in every colour as though he feared they might disappear.
Behind them, the hotel slowly stirred.
Doors opened. Footsteps shuffled. Whispered voices filled the corridor as the Underkin woke from uneasy sleep. One by one, they emerged into the hallway, drawn by the faint glow spilling through the exit door.
A young girl stepped outside first. She froze beside Corin, her mouth falling open as she stared at the sky. Another child followed, then two more, then a cluster of adults. Soon the landing was crowded, the Underkin pressing close together, staring upward in stunned silence.
Some shielded their hurting eyes, unused to the brightness. Others reached out as though trying to touch the light. A few began to cry — quiet tears, not of fear, but of something deeper. Awe. Relief. Grief. All tangled together.
Corin watched them, her hand still resting on Kesh’s shoulder. “This is the Above,” she said softly. “This is its morning.” She had read the ancient texts that had been brought to the tunnels when the original settlement fled underground and knew what this was.
The Underkin murmured among themselves, their voices trembling. They had lived their entire lives in dimness, in the muted glow of the bioluminescent moss lanterns and stone‑light. The sun was a revelation.
A man stepped forward, his face streaked with soot. “It’s warm,” he whispered, holding out his hand. “It’s warm without burning.”
Another woman nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “It feels… alive.”
Kesh looked up at Corin. “Do we get to see this every day?”
Corin swallowed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I hope so.”
The door behind them opened again—this time with more force.
“Kesh!”
Rowan stepped out onto the landing, breathless and still half‑buttoning his uniform shirt. He froze when he saw the crowd gathered in the morning light.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “You’re all… up.”
Kesh turned, smiling shyly. “I wanted to see what was outside.”
Rowan exhaled, relief softening his expression. “You gave me a scare. I thought you’d wandered off.”
Corin stepped between them, protective but not hostile. “He did wander,” she said. “But only here.”
Rowan nodded, accepting the gentle reprimand. “Well… I’m glad he did. Looks like he found something worth seeing.”
He moved beside Corin, leaning on the railing as he watched the Underkin marvel at the sunrise. Their faces—still streaked with ash, still heavy with grief—were lit with something new. Something fragile.
Hope.
Rowan lowered his voice. “I didn’t think about this,” he admitted. “About how different daylight would be for you.”
Corin kept her eyes on the horizon. “We have never seen the sky,” she said. “Not truly.”
Rowan looked at her, then at Kesh, then at the rest of the Underkin. “Well… you’re seeing it now. And there’s a lot more to see.”
Kesh tugged at Rowan’s sleeve. “Does the sky change again?”
Rowan smiled. “All the time. It’ll turn bright blue soon. And tonight, it’ll go dark again—but not like where you came from. You’ll see stars. Thousands of them.”
Kesh’s eyes widened. “Stars?”
Corin felt Kesh’s excitement ripple through her, warming her in a way the sun couldn’t. She turned to Rowan. “Will you show us?”
Rowan hesitated, surprised by the question—and by the trust it implied. “Yes,” he said. “I will.”
The Underkin continued to watch the sunrise, their fear slowly melting into wonder. Rowan stood with them, quiet and steady, letting them take in the world at their own pace.
For the first time since emerging from the earth, the Underkin weren’t running, or hiding, or grieving.
They were simply seeing.
- Writer
