After a week, the day many had been waiting for finally arrived: the day of sending out the second batch.
People woke up in different moods, but all flowing into the same current. Some wanted their names written into the city's history. Others sought the privileges granted to those who accomplished something. And there was another group, quieter than the rest: those who wanted to escape the city temporarily, afraid of the "rift" that had appeared in the opposite direction of the expeditions.
The idea of disappearance had planted a kind of fear in their hearts—one that couldn't be easily expressed. But no matter how different their motives were, they all agreed on one thing: to leave. They ignored the fact that, over the past days, not a single piece of news had come from anyone who had left the first time.
Thirty people stood before the city gate under Naif's guidance and the guards. The air was heavy with the silence of those who knew they were about to do something irreversible—but hadn't yet found the right word to describe it.
When the gate opened, Naif began shaking hands with the volunteers one by one. Not in a cold, formal way—but a real handshake, where he held each person's hand a little longer than usual. He didn't necessarily speak to each of them; sometimes he simply looked them in the eyes.
It eased some of the weight on their faces—but didn't remove it.
"Wait, my grandson!"
An old woman shouted from the edge of the crowd. Her face was tight, fear clear to anyone standing even a few meters away.
"What if you don't come back? What if you die out there? You're the most precious thing I have left. Please stay here. I know you want those privileges for my sake, but I don't need any of them. All I want is for us to keep living the way we are now."
Naif's expression tightened, his fist clenching. It was the first time he heard open opposition from civilians in front of everyone. But that wasn't what bothered him most.
What truly unsettled him was that her words—this old woman he had only seen as a fragile piece on the edge of old age—could affect the mindset of everyone standing here today, not just her grandson.
He steadied himself, then smiled calmly.
"Which one of you is her grandson?"
He scanned the crowd, already noticing tension forming. A young man in his mid-twenties raised his hand, embarrassment clear on his face—fatigue even more so.
"Me. Please don't mind her words. Leaving is my decision, and I won't change it. I've discussed it with her many times, but she refuses to listen."
Naif replied:
"But I believe it's my responsibility, as the main reason this conflict began, to reassure her."
Then he raised his voice just enough for everyone to hear:
"The areas we're sending you to were already cleared by the man's team. But they couldn't explore them fully—they were exhausted from fighting, so they left before finishing. Laivens came up with this plan because he believed we could complete what they started.
Those men risked their lives. Some of them actually died. So by what right do we place the entire burden on them? When will we stop being consumers living off the efforts of a few? What would make us any different from demons that slowly drain humans?
We must support them. We must contribute."
Silence followed his words—not the silence of disagreement, but of thought. Eyes shifted between him and the old woman. No one moved.
The old woman lowered her head slightly. The fear didn't leave her face, but she stopped shouting. She gripped her cane and looked at her grandson in silence.
Then she spoke, more quietly now:
"I don't understand all this talk about duty and the city… I'm just afraid of losing him."
A faint murmur spread among the crowd. Some volunteers looked away. Others tightened their gear. No one was untouched—but no one stepped back either.
Naif took a single step forward.
"Your fear is natural. If I were in your place, I would feel the same. But we're not sending them to die—we're sending them to make everyone's survival possible."
He hesitated for a moment, then added more softly:
"If the risk had no meaning, I would be the first to stop them from leaving."
The young man looked at his grandmother, then bowed slightly to her.
"I'll come back. I'm not running away from the city—I'll return to it with something worth bringing."
The old woman didn't smile. But she raised her trembling hand and placed it on his shoulder.
Behind them, the tension shifted into something else. The volunteers exchanged brief looks. Some took deep breaths. Others hid the trembling in their hands.
The fear didn't disappear—but it became shared, instead of a personal burden.
One of the guards signaled that the path was ready.
Naif turned toward the half-open gate and said clearly:
"Remember… you're not leaving because you're the least fortunate—but because you're the most capable."
The first volunteer stepped forward hesitantly. Then the second followed. Within moments, the entire line began moving slowly toward the outside.
The guards closed the iron gate with a hollow sound that echoed through the empty square.
People dispersed slowly. Naif remained standing for a moment, looking at the closed gate—then turned.
Zorim and Ashura were waiting nearby.
Zorim looked at him with open curiosity.
"We're spending too much time preparing and organizing these expeditions. I'm sure there are shorter plans that achieve the same result with the same numbers. Why did you choose this method?"
Naif replied with a calm, sarcastic tone:
"Did your brain stop working? We talked about Noima days ago, and you're still missing the point."
Ashura frowned.
"Your Noima?"
Naif continued:
"Selene is a forced sensory link between me and those I bind through physical contact—like a handshake or an embrace. When that happens, a mark attaches to the target. After activating my ability, my eyes darken, and everything I see turns into a surface map in my mind showing the locations of those marked.
But it disappears if the marked person dies. You both know this."
Zorim and Ashura nodded.
"I send civilians through the routes we need to reach Oracle with the least effort and by avoiding demons. I gather the paths where civilians survive the longest, and eliminate those where they die quickly—building a map that gives us a smoother and faster route to Oracle.
And since I can't use Selene on more than five people at once, I divide them into small groups. These thirty people are split into five teams of six. Each team takes a different route—and each contains one person under Selene's effect."
Zorim stayed silent for a moment before saying:
"An excellent plan. It genuinely increases our chances of survival."
Ashura let out a breath.
"Looks like you finally found a use for your Noima."
Naif didn't respond immediately. He glanced at the gate for a moment, then said:
"We'll begin the next step in two days. Until then, get some rest."
Zorim said as he turned to leave:
"Alright. You should rest too. Don't push yourself."