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As the limousine passed through the outer edges of Vaelion City, the air visibly changed. The cool yet clear atmosphere of Eldorian was replaced by a dark, oppressive haze. The city itself was a colossal mass of floating stone.
At last, the limousine veered off the main road and climbed a stone-paved incline.
The vehicle came to a stop. The driver opened the door.
"We've arrived," Derick said, stretching slightly as he rose from his seat. "The teleportation gate is currently stable. The connection to our destination has already been established. But there are certain rules regarding gates…"
Before them lay a plaza surrounded by towering walls of gray stone. Guards in blue armor stood watch atop sentry towers lining the walls. At the center of the gate stood a massive circular structure veined with silver. Mana lines were etched around its surface, and at its heart rested a teleportation stone—motionless and inert.
Kaelen's gaze drifted to the stone. An enormous amount of mana was flowing into it.
Though its surface remained still, the layers of mana swirling around it seemed to suggest a power tightly compressed within. It was a closed door—one whose worlds beyond remained sealed.
Kaelen took a step back, eyes locked onto the gate. Very few people were around them. Gate zones were usually isolated from civilians and kept under strict security. To a non-mage, these doors looked like nothing more than decorative stone carvings, but within them churned a dense, potentially explosive cycle of mana.
"How many times have you used these gates?" Kaelen asked, turning to Derick.
"I've lost count," Derick replied. "But every time, it feels like your body is forgotten for a moment—like your soul follows behind it."
Kaelen swallowed. "That doesn't sound reassuring."
Derick chuckled lightly. "The first time is strange. After that, you get used to it. Numbness, slight dizziness, sometimes nausea… temporary things. Estelle didn't feel a thing her first time. That's one of her irritating traits."
Estelle said nothing, only turned her head slightly.
Derick walked ahead and handed an identification document to one of the guards stationed near the gate. The man examined it carefully, then touched a small stone slab beside the portal. The etched lines flared to life—first blue, then white, then a crystalline purple. The patterns danced across the stone's surface like living light.
Kaelen instinctively stepped back. Derick turned toward him.
"It's ready," he said. "It'll be a short passage for you."
Kaelen blinked. "Is that… metaphorical?"
He was slightly shorter than the others beside him.
Estelle had already approached the gate. She placed one foot on the edge of the inner circle, then stepped fully inside. A white radiance enveloped her body.
One second. Maybe two.
Then, in the blink of an eye, she vanished.
When I heard my name, I stood up and walked toward the person who called it.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
"Shhh!"
Just before entering the door, the attendant pressed six coded buttons into the lock, then scanned his eye.
Click!
After a brief pause, the door opened on its own, revealing what lay beyond.
"Ready?" the man asked.
"No," Kaelen answered honestly. "But I'm going anyway."
And he stepped forward.
The moment his foot touched the circle's line, mana brushed against his skin. It was like plunging into icy water—yet filled with warm sparks. His senses were replaced by something else, his thoughts fell into a different rhythm. Time distorted, his surroundings unraveled, and he himself… dissolved.
Blinking rapidly as he fought off the dizziness left by the teleportation, Kaelen took in his surroundings. Estelle had already stepped a few paces forward; her face remained expressionless, her posture measured as ever. Faint traces of mana vibrations still lingered on the stone floor of the teleportation platform.
Derick approached from behind, straightening his black coat. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He truly looked like someone who had spent the last several years in this city.
"Don't breathe too deeply," he said quietly to Kaelen. "The air here isn't just filthy—it's dangerous. Welcome to Menas."
Kaelen nodded but didn't look away. His eyes scanned the city stretching downward from the teleportation square.
It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff.
Below lay a thick, dark gray layer smothering the city. It wasn't fog—nor could it be called smoke. This thing—this gas, this atmosphere—pressed down on the mind with gnawing weight. The sky was suffocated. Not blue. As if it never had been. There was no wind, no trees, not even the sound of birds. Only… the distant echo of metal striking metal—and occasionally, the piercing screams of children.
They descended the stone stairs. The steps marked the beginning of a steep slope leading into the heart of the city. With every step, the sounds changed. First came footsteps, then the stench of rotting food. Then, the hollow, muffled echo of stone beneath their feet. When they set foot on the streets of Menas, the city bared its teeth.
The streets were lined with roofless houses. Half-built bricks, mud clinging to their surfaces. Some homes were nothing more than warped, rusted metal sheets—structures that looked ready to collapse with a strong gust of wind. In front of a few sat old sofas, their torn upholstery spilling yellowed foam. Children wandered everywhere—but not with the joy of play. These were children whose eyes were already darkened, lost in thoughts far beyond their years. Bodies forced to grow up too soon, moving by instinct instead of hope.
Kaelen noticed a drunk man slumped against a wall. He wore a robe-like garment, though its color had long since faded to gray, its sleeves torn at the wrists. A bruise on his cheek looked like the mark of either a club or a boot. The man looked at Kaelen—his eyes cold as ice—then lowered his head without a word.
"This is Lower Menas," Derick said as they walked. "It doesn't even appear on official maps. The city isn't registered. Neither are most of the people here. No identities. No homes. And above all—no security."
Kaelen narrowed his eyes. "Then who lives in those buildings?"
Derick stopped beside a pile of garbage and gestured toward the distance. "Look."
Kaelen did.
The city stretched before them like a gray sea. But at its center… towers rose upward. Black spires defying the gray. Smooth, geometrically near-perfect. Covered in glass—but glass that didn't shine. It swallowed light. Their very existence made the rot beneath them even more apparent.
"Those are the towers of the Merchant Families," Derick said. "The rulers of East Menas. Most of the city's food, water, clothing—even magical crystals—are under their control. They aren't tied to the state. Even the Council negotiates with them. In Menas, power isn't money. But those who control money… they're kings of a sort."
As they moved further downhill, the streets narrowed. Kaelen saw a metal barrel burning with fire in an alley. Five or six people gathered around it. Silent. Less for warmth than to measure one another. Along another street, several young men chipped away at an old wall, trying to pull the wires from inside. With each hammer strike, the wall eroded a little more.
Estelle still hadn't spoken. Her eyes remained in the shadows, her steps unwavering. She didn't hesitate once.
Derick continued, "This isn't a stain on Menas's back. This stain is Menas. Everything else is polish. You'll see—there's light in the central towers. But it doesn't warm. There's security. But it's for sale. There are laws. But those who make them answer to no one. Killing someone here is as ordinary as buying bread."
Kaelen clenched his teeth. Just witnessing it gnawed at him.
They stopped.
In a narrow alley, someone lay face-down on the ground. At first glance, it was hard to tell whether it was a human or an animal. A thick coat covered the body; the head wasn't visible. There were no police. No one offering help. A passerby didn't even turn their head.
"Is he dead?" Kaelen asked.
Derick looked. Shrugged. "Likely. But being found dead here is about as normal as breakfast."
Kaelen's hand curled into a fist. "Doesn't anyone help?"
"No one trusts anyone," Derick replied. "Because here, help is usually a trap. Or a debt. And debt… is never unpaid in Menas."
At the end of the road lay a wide concrete area, encircled by barbed wire. Inside were several dozen shack-like homes, garbage scattered between them, and exhausted men drifting aimlessly. According to Derick, this was the "safe zone" for temporary guests—at least on the surface. Watchtowers loomed above, with several mages observing their movements. Even then, it was hard to tell if they were truly watching.
"This has been arranged for you," Derick said. "Estelle will present the documents. You'll stay here. You'll receive your assignments from here. Don't let anyone bother you. Menas does not forgive curiosity. Questions can be a cause of death. I know you're Level One mages, and according to Councilor Pheniyet, you show promise—but be careful. Even Level Two mages die in Menas."
Kaelen stopped. He glanced briefly at Estelle. She remained silent.
Then he looked back toward the city.
A scream echoed from afar. It might have been a woman. Or a child.
Derick fixed his gaze on Kaelen.
"Are you ready, Kaelen?" he asked quietly.
Kaelen slowly nodded. His eyes drifted toward the sky. Behind that gray shroud, he remembered the stars he once saw.
"It looks better than I expected," he whispered.
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