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Their eyes shone with white light, and if they had irises or pupils, then Hector couldn’t see them. It was such a strange yet familiar sight, like something out of a cartoon. Or perhaps a horror film--he wasn’t quite sure.

Everyone seemed to be completely bald, as well, even lacking eyebrows and facial hair. If not for their still very human-looking physiques, he might have thought they were from a different planet.

And boy, could he see their physiques. They barely wore any clothing at all. Occasionally, he’d spot someone entirely nude.

That much, he wished Garovel would’ve warned him about. Maybe it would’ve made him feel a modicum less uncomfortable right now. He tried not to stare.

It was difficult to discern their skin color, though. The poor lighting and the gloss on his suit’s visor didn’t help, but he was fairly certain that he saw slight variations in skin tone, at least.

As they proceeded on, however, Hector noticed changes among the crowd. More and more people wore clothes--or perhaps, harnesses was a better word for it, since the primary purpose of their clothing seemed to be in carrying things.

He supposed it made sense, though. Given the extreme temperatures down here, these people probably didn’t ever have to worry about staying warm.

‘What can you tell me about these people?’ Hector asked.

‘Well, there are several different races who live in the Undercrust,’ said Garovel privately. ‘In Mohssian, these gray folks with the glowing eyes are called the Hun’Kui--or “people of the ash.” They’re probably who you’ll be seeing the most of out in the open like this. There aren’t many other races who can withstand these temperatures as well as they can.’

Their sheer numbers made Hector curious. ‘They’re not all servants, are they?’

‘No.’

‘Then, how do they survive? Isn’t it like a thousand degrees down here or something?’