They continued down busy corridors flanked by their two guards until, eventually, they arrived at a reception desk.

The woman behind it dropped her news paper and lazily slid paperwork across the counter, followed by two worn sacks—the same belongings confiscated upon their arrival.

Joseph checked the contents carefully, making sure nothing was missing or out of place. Satisfied, he gave a curt bow to the receptionist before following the guards and Rayah toward a large flight of stairs.

The climb felt seemingly endless. At the top, they entered a chamber that opened into a vast space.

A stone gate dominated the far wall. Runes carved into its surface caught the gaslight and seemed to shimmer.

Joseph took a step forward.

But before he could approach it, a voice cut through the air.

"One moment, please."

A tall man emerged, as though materialized from a side entrance— his grey hair swept back from a high forehead. He wore a clean black suit with silver threading along the lapels, his face angular, sharp-featured, with narrow eyes that seemed always squinting.

Good to know that even top arcanists can't do anything about a reseeding hairline... Joseph could not help think, but obviously not voice.

Suddenly, the old man snapped his fingers.

The world twisted.

One moment they stood before the gate. The next, they were somewhere else entirely—a black room with a single light overhead, suspended in nothing, away from all eyes.

The guards immediately lowered their heads.

Joseph followed suit. He didn't need to be told this was someone important.

Only Rayah kept her head up.

"Just a precaution, excuse the habit," The old man smiled, then continued, "So you must be our new visitors from the Island of the Priestess! I've just been informed of everything." The man bowed, bringing his head level with Rayah's. "My name is Hagor Nello, a member of parliament assigned to your situation. It is truly an honour to meet the youngest daughter of the Vandymion family! The news that you're alive brought me great joy!"

Rayah didn't react. Didn't even flinch.

"So, what awaits us from now on?" She wasted no time on pleasantries.

"Excellent question!" Hagor straightened, enthusiasm bleeding into his tone. "For now, I think it best you explore the city as you see fit! Of course, we'll be guarding you—but we'll allow you privacy. Lord Vandymion has given us both great freedom in this matter." He paused, watching her carefully. "Such as, young miss, would you like to announce to the world that you're alive? We could make that happen."

For the first time, Rayah showed a reaction.

She stood silent for several heartbeats, weighing options. Or at least pretending to. But it seemed like she had long made up her mind.

"I see no reason to make myself a target. Keep my identity secret. Announcing would only limit my movements. Guard me from the shadows as you see fit, but do not get in my way. Do I make myself clear?"

Hagor's hands tensed slightly.

"Very clear! Excellent judgment as expected, young mistress! Truly the Vandymion prodigy!"

Rayah's brows furrowed at the praise. "Would that be all?"

"Almost!" Hagor reached into his suit and pulled out a folded paper. "I've marked interesting spots in red. The star indicates the inn I recommend. As directed by Lord Vandymion, I've also included some money—but that's all you'll receive, so use it wisely."

Rayah unfolded the paper. A detailed map of Roheart spread across the page, divided into three distinct rings. Various locations were circled in red ink— markets, guilds, libraries, monuments. A star marked an inn near the inner ring. Taped to the map's edge were paper bills of different colours; each held a portrait of someone she didn't recognize.

"Thank you. Is that all?" She refolded the map, tucked it into her pocket.

"Well, we have certain plans we have yet to finalize concerning your situation! So expect another message from us very soon. So for now, enjoy your time in the city, and stay out of trouble!"

"And would that finally be all?"

"Yes, mistress! That is all!" Hagor smiled and snapped his fingers.

Reality snapped back as well.

They stood before the stone gate once more, Hagor nowhere to be seen.

He didn't even need to pull us into that space, this room was private enough. He just wanted to show off his powers... Perhaps an invisible threat? Most likely... Joseph thought, raising his lowered head, the guards following after.

With a deep breath, their focus shifted to the far-off gate.

A new life awaited them within the city.

There was this anticipation in the air, like a child before his first day of high school multiplied a hundred times over.

One of the guards pulled a green gem from his pocket. A similar gem embedded in the gate began to resonate, humming. The gate groaned, stone grinding as it rose, revealing—

Not city streets, but sky.

Wind rushed past their faces, carrying the not-so-faint scent of smoke.

Joseph's breath caught.

As expected from all those seemingly never-ending stairs, they stood not on city streets, but on a metal veranda extending from the top of the wall. Open sky stretched before them, clouds drifting lazily in the afternoon sun. And ahead, tethered to the platform by thick cables, floated an airship.

The vessel resembled a small zeppelin from Earth—an elongated balloon of reinforced canvas held together by lighter-than-air gas, with a gondola suspended beneath. The hull was painted deep blue with brass fittings. Steam vents along the sides released periodic puffs of white vapour. Propellers at the rear spun lazily, ready for flight.

"This way," one of the guards said, gesturing.

Together, they boarded.

The interior was cramped but functional: wooden benches along the walls, small circular windows offering views outside with two telescopes near them, and exposed pipes running along the ceiling.

The airship shook as it detached from its dock. Then they were flying, gliding above Rotheart over one hundred feet in the air.

From the map, Joseph understood the city's layout now. Three distinct walls divided the city into rings—outer, middle, and inner. The segregation could not have been more blatant.

On Earth, there had been classes where the rich got richer and did what they could to keep the poor working for them. But that system had been more subtle—hidden behind property values and neighbourhood boundaries that shifted gradually over decades, behind economic policies, hiring practices that never explicitly stated their intent, meritocracy, and economic mobility.

The divide existed, but many thought it normal, and you could pretend not to see it if you tried hard enough.

The same could not be said about Rotheart.

Rayah narrowed her eyes as they gazed down at the outer ring with one of the telescopes.

Streets thick with mud, buildings crowded together in chaotic clusters, wooden structures leaning against each other for support. Narrow alleyways twisted between them like veins, many too thin for carts. Laundry lines crisscrossed overhead, tattered clothes flapping in the breeze. Steam-powered machinery chugged away in factory districts, smoke rising from countless chimneys, mixing into a grey haze that hung over everything like a shroud.

The streets swarmed with people like ants. It was by far the biggest ring of the city, but still far too many people for the space.

Men gathered, laughing and drinking, while on the same street others lay curled and huddled.

Rayah watched a woman carrying water buckets on a collar across her shoulders, navigating through crowds, until one man pushed her. She and her water came crashing. She sat in a muddy puddle and wept.

Children seemed to be most of the population. They darted between adults' legs, some played, others begged.

A fight broke out near a street corner, two men grappling while onlookers formed a circle to cheer as guards in uniforms broke it up, not afraid to use force.

Near the center of the middle ring was a cemetery. Graves, some made of wooden sticks, others just a rock, and very few looking proper stretched like an ocean, with not many visitors. It caught Joseph's attention more than any other landmark.

It wasn't a complete wasteland, at least there was technology —gas lamps lined the streets, steam pipes ran along building exteriors, telegraph poles rose at intervals. But everything was worn, neglected. Lamps with broken glass. Pipes leaking vapour. Poles tilted as if ready to topple.

Rayah stared down at it all, expression unreadable. These people felt more like animals in a pen than actual humans.

Rayah had always called people "slum rats, but this was her first time actually seeing the slums.

She looked over toward Joseph. His face was blank, staring downward through the telescope.

Perhaps he feels nostalgic? She knew now that he and Skylar had lived in the slums of Galica. Though there weren't walls like in Rotheart, the divide between regions was evident enough.

The airship drifted onward, leaving the outer ring behind.

Eventually, they descended—not to the inner ring, but atop the walls of the middle ring. A platform similar to the one they'd departed from extended from the wall's surface.

It seemed they weren't authorized for the inner ring yet. Rayah didn't complain.

They disembarked and were escorted down a flight of stairs built along the exterior of the wall itself. From this height, they could see the middle ring spread out below.

A different world entirely. Even the sky was bluer.

The streets were paved here. Cobblestone instead of mud. Buildings stood straight, painted in muted but clean colors. Gaslamps lined the thoroughfares at regular intervals. Carriages rolled past, drawn by well-groomed horses. People dressed in practical but respectable clothing—merchants, craftsmen, clerks. Not wealthy, but not rags. There were far fewer children compared to the lower ring; they played in the streets as well, not many but not too few.

Still, it wasn't paradise. Joseph caught glimpses. Pickpockets in the streets, a drunk being hauled away by constables, two men arguing outside a gambling den.

It was natural after all.

"Hey, Mistress Rayah!" Suddenly, Joseph's voice cut through Rayah's calm.

Hm? It felt odd. She bit her lips and tsked.

"Don't call me that,"

She paused for a second…

Gripping her fists and quickly releasing, she spoke.

"You'd reveal my identity!"

"Oh right!" Joseph chuckled. "We could go back to Ella! Mistress Ella it is—"

"No..." Rayah cut him off. "Just Ella is enough..."

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