spires of pointed rock outcrop the city that rests underground. there are many people that live in it, and their lives are not uncomfortable. there is cold stone comprising their dwellings. water drips from the ceiling miles above into catchment systems, half-moon shaped tubes, suspended and held up by pillars of bamboo. it is clear water. the linens of their beds are made to hold in warmth. their days last 31 hours, and they do not remember another way of living.

streets are lined with torches that are maintained by dutiful undergardeners, who keep coal with them in satchels tied around their waists, and keep coal-stains on their palms and vestiments. there is a river that runs through the center of the city, from which citizens draw their daily water. they are fed by crops that require no natural light, living only by the fire’s glow.

some dwellings were carved out of naturally occurring stone formations that rose up and towered. these were easy to occupy, and to make into homes of many stories. some dwellings were made of makeshift bricks, stacked implements, on plateaus that seem to go on for eternity.

the main platform upon which the city rests is a large circle. around it is a thoughtless void, without echo. there are ladders on the side of the rock wall which lead into rounded portcullises and living quarters. there are large cranks to open the doors, which can be locked by way of a key.

further down an isolated ladder lies the underground forest. there is no light in the underground forest. it is navigated entirely by ascetics, by way of scent, and by way of touch. they go into the forest, and they collect coal from off of trees, and buried in the ground. they avoid the living beings about which they decline to tell stories, and they bring the coal back, to the undergardeners.

there is light in the city. the city has a cool stream of water. the people are kept in balance by the ascetics, the undergardeners, and nature’s ever-present Source.