Chapter 1
The world I was born into is enclosed within five enormous walls, each a separate world with its own name and sentence.
The outer, longest, and harshest is Westwitch. It absorbs the first blows of war; its inhabitants breathe the dust of ruins and sleep to the accompaniment of nighttime cries. Second, Cina is a forge and a staging area: here they keep weapons and raise soldiers for walls they will never see. Third, Rina is a living, bustling artery: markets, crafts, squares; they call it a pearl, forgetting that pearls are born in a prison shell. Fourth, Covenant, a repository of energy, taxes, and memories of what was before the Wall. Fifth, Mountain, an impregnable spire of the elite, from which orders and "volunteers" are sent to explore lands from which no one returns.
But even five Walls are no panacea. The wind from the Wasteland brought not sand, but news: the monsters were gaining strength, and the people beyond the wall were disappearing, as if erased by the darkness itself. And more and more often at night, the wind carried not a howl, but a staccato sound, like a team of scientists.
Finn, wake up.
Mika touched his shoulder. Finn sat up and stretched.
How long did I sleep?
About two hours. Your mother was looking for you. She asked me to tell you dinner was waiting.
At home, your mother smiled slyly:
You're late. I'll have to share your clothes if you manifest after everything cools down.
I dozed off outside, Finn muttered sheepishly.
After dinner, the three of them—Finn, Mika, and Ren—ran to the square. The "Steel Blade" was returning—the one who emerges from behind the wall. Heroes who bring the truth.
What they saw stunned them. Armless, with burned skin, with empty eyes beneath bandages. Stretcher after stretcher with bodies covered in tarpaulins. The crowd was already hissing, "Worthless! Years go by, and nothing happens!"
"They risk everything," Finn said quietly. "So that we can live."
People need results, not the price, Ren shook his head.
If they had been there, the Blade would have surrendered on the very first night.
Later, when the streets were empty, the night watch assembled at the Main Gate. The commander with the scar across his eye said, "
Perimeter inspection. Half a mile. Silence and shadow. Understood?"
The Gate rumbled open, revealing a door.
The squad stepped into the darkness. And walked into an ambush.
"Hunters" appeared out of nowhere. Silently. Ten of them. Long, stiletto-like fingers dug into their throats. Four collapsed without a sound.
Only the commander survived. He staggered back and saw a wall rise from behind the rising body. Not a wall, but a mountain of muscle, pierced with bone plates. "Armored." The monster ignored the humans. Its target was the Gate.
CLOSE! the commander yelled, retreating toward the gap. CLOSE!
The "Armored" slammed its shoulder against the door. The metal howled, but it was impossible to move the creature. The Gate hung, ajar, two meters.
From behind him, new silhouettes appeared. More "Hunters." And two more "Armored."
And then the commander understood. This wasn't a defense. This was an operation. The monsters weren't breaking in from the inside. The first "Hunters," having slipped through the gap, didn't even rush to destroy the city. They, as planned, melted into the narrow alleys of Westwitch, their goal not panic, but silence. And the "Armored"... they didn't enter, but began to block the passage with rock debris from the outside, cutting Westwitch off from the rest of the walls. They weren't storming. They were isolating.
The last thing the commander saw was a dark paw covering him.
Silence reigned in the streets of Westwitch. Deep, ringing, unnatural. No one knew that the city was already cut off from the world. And that silence
is the first cry.