The carriage came to a stop at dusk.
The constant rattling cut off all at once, and the silence that followed felt strange, almost uncomfortable. Arlen opened his eyes and sat up slowly, stretching his stiff legs.
"We're here," one of the knights said from outside.
When he stepped down, the air changed.
It didn't smell like blood or smoke, like in the village. It smelled like people. Hot food. Animals. Damp stone and old metal.
A lived-in smell.
Persistent.
Voices filled the air. Languages Arlen didn't know—yet understood anyway. Words he shouldn't be able to grasp, yet arrived clearly in his mind.
Another gift from whatever had brought them here. Or another leash.
Valenrith rose before them.
The walls weren't white or imposing in any elegant way. They were tall, thick, layered with repairs over repairs. They weren't built to impress.
They were built to endure.
"It's… big," Sora muttered.
No one answered.
Before they crossed the gates, Arlen saw them.
Off to one side of the main road, stretching along the outer wall, were tents. Dozens of them. Improvised from worn cloth, crooked poles, torn canvas.
Entire families gathered around small fires. Children in dirty clothes watching the carriages pass. Elderly people leaning against sacks used as pillows.
Guards stood at a distance, watching, but not intervening.
"Who are they?" Sora asked quietly.
Nira didn't answer right away. She was staring at the tents, something unreadable in her expression.
"Refugees," she said at last.
Arlen didn't ask from where.
He didn't need to.
The knights ordered them out.
"On foot from here," the captain said.
They crossed the gates walking.
Arlen felt something he couldn't quite name. It wasn't open hostility. Not relief either.
It was a heavy kind of indifference. Automatic.
The city wasn't waiting for them.
The captain led them through the main streets.
"This is Valenrith," he said without looking back. "The capital of the kingdom."
Ren, walking nearby, looked up.
"What's the kingdom called?" he asked.
The captain paused for a fraction of a second.
Then kept walking.
"It had a name," he said. "It's not needed anymore."
He didn't explain.
He didn't have to.
The First Ring unfolded before them.
Near the main road, life continued. Forges still open, the sound of hammer striking metal. Food stalls closing slowly. Carts loaded with goods. Guards moving through their routes with tired routine.
But it only took a few steps away from the main path for everything to shift.
The streets narrowed. The houses dropped in height. Poorly treated wood mixed with cracked stone. Children sitting on broken steps. Women carrying buckets too large for them. Men with scars that didn't look recent—or accidental.
A boy tugged at the sleeve of one of the transported.
"Are you… the ones who came from the sky?"
Before anyone could answer, a hand pulled him back sharply.
"Don't bother them," the woman with him said. "Keep walking."
The boy looked back once more, curiosity mixed with fear.
Arlen lowered his gaze.
"We're not welcome," Nira murmured.
"Not yet," Arlen said, before thinking.
Sora looked at him, surprised.
"Not yet?"
Arlen didn't explain.
He wasn't even sure he understood what he'd meant.
They kept walking.
The streets began to widen. The buildings grew taller. The facades were better kept. The guards more visible. More formal.
Everything looked more ordered.
More distant.
They had left behind the functional core of the First Ring and were moving toward areas where the city didn't just survive.
It administered.
Eventually, they were led to a large gray stone building, stripped of unnecessary decoration. Solid. Institutional.
"You'll stay here tonight," the captain said. "Tomorrow, your fate will be decided."
"Fate?" someone repeated, uneasy.
The captain looked at them.
"Yes."
No further explanation.
Inside, they were arranged in a common hall. Wooden benches. Simple blankets. Water. Bread.
No one complained.
Exhaustion weighed more than any doubt.
Sora dropped onto a bench and exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.
"Well…" he said, forcing half a smile. "I guess this beats dying in a field full of monsters."
Nira didn't look at him right away.
"Don't compare it yet," she said. "We don't know what this place is."
Sora tilted his head.
"You always this optimistic?"
"No," she said. "I just learned not to get hopeful too soon."
The comment lingered.
Sora glanced around, like he was looking for something to hold onto, then turned back to Arlen.
"What do you think?"
Arlen took a second. Looked at the bread in his hand, untouched.
"If they brought us this far…" he said slowly, "then it's not over yet."
It didn't sound brave.
It sounded tired.
From one corner, Min-jae sat in silence, watching the group without a word.
Sora noticed and gestured toward him.
"Hey… you didn't say a thing the whole trip."
Min-jae looked at him for a moment.
"Min-jae," he said. "And I don't think this is about saving us."
He paused, like he was putting the thought together.
"I think they're waiting to see who lasts."
No one answered right away.
Silence returned—but it wasn't the same.
There was something new in the air.
Not fear.
Observation.
Arlen felt it.
That night, leaning against the cold wall, he stared at the stone ceiling.
The city was still alive outside. People who didn't know he existed, living in a world that wasn't his anymore.
He thought about the voice. About what it had said. That only the useful would be granted what they desired.
He didn't know what "useful" meant here. He didn't know what they would ask of him.
But he knew what he wanted.
To go back.
Not to save anyone. Not to be a hero. Just to return to Friday, to that new place Yui had mentioned, to the crack in the ceiling he would never see again if he didn't find a way back.
He closed his eyes.
He would have to understand how this world worked. He would have to be useful.
Not because he wanted to.
Because it was the only way out they had given him.