The crystal forests had given way to farmland.
Endless fields stretched toward the horizon—crops of strange colors, tended by workers who didn't look up as the slave caravan passed. Irrigation channels carved geometric patterns into the earth, fed by rivers that shimmered with an almost metallic gleam.
Ethan watched it all through the bars.
Seven days in this cage had taught him much. He had listened to every conversation—between guards, between prisoners, between the traders who occasionally rode past on their strange mounts.
He had learned about the Northern Kingdoms. About the noble houses that warred endlessly for territory. About the slave trade that fueled their economies.
And about the rigid hierarchy that governed everything.
Kings at the top. Nobles beneath them. Merchants. Soldiers. Farmers.
And at the very bottom—slaves.
Dimitri had grown more talkative over the days.
Not to Roman—their relationship remained one of mutual irritation. But to Ethan, the old man seemed drawn. Perhaps it was Ethan's quiet nature. Perhaps it was something else.
"You're not like the others," Dimitri had said one night, when the cart had stopped and the guards slept. "You watch. You listen. You think."
"Is that unusual?"
"For a slave?" Dimitri had laughed bitterly. "Most give up the moment the chains go on. They stop thinking. Stop planning. Just... exist."
He had studied Ethan with those rheumy eyes.
"But not you. You're waiting for something."
Ethan hadn't responded.
But the old man wasn't wrong.
Now, on the seventh day, the city appeared on the horizon.
Ura.
It rose from the plains like a mountain of stone and steel.
Massive walls—fifty meters high—encircled the city, their surfaces carved with murals depicting battles, coronations, and scenes of divine judgment. Towers stood at regular intervals, flying banners of crimson and gold.
Beyond the walls, buildings sprawled in chaotic layers. Stone structures pressed against wooden shacks. Temples with towering spires stood beside smoking factories. And at the very center...
A pillar of light.
It blazed into the violet sky like a beacon—pure white radiance that seemed to pulse with a rhythm of its own. Even from this distance, Ethan could feel its warmth on his face.
"Beautiful," Roman breathed.
For the first time since Ethan had known him, the cynical man seemed genuinely moved. His eyes glistened as he stared at the light.
"I never thought I'd see Ura," Roman said softly. "Even as a slave... to witness the Heart of Light..."
But Dimitri wasn't looking at the pillar.
He was looking at the city gates.
His face had gone pale. His hands—already thin—now trembled violently. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
Then—
"Festival of Heroes."
The words fell from his mouth like stones into still water.
Roman blinked, torn from his reverie. "What?"
Dimitri didn't respond. He was staring at the gates, at the banners that hung from the walls, at the crowds of people streaming in and out of the city.
Ethan followed his gaze.
He saw it now.
The decorations. The colored streamers. The flowers strewn across the road. The merchants setting up stalls. The children running with painted masks.
A festival.
They're preparing for a celebration.
"Oldman." Roman's voice had lost its mockery. "What's wrong? What is this 'Festival of Heroes'?"
Dimitri finally looked at him.
And Ethan saw something he hadn't expected to see in those ancient eyes.
Terror.
"The Festival of Heroes," Dimitri whispered, "is the greatest celebration in Ura. Held once every five years. A tradition dating back to the founding of the city."
His voice cracked.
"It's a hunt."
"A hunt?" Roman frowned. "Hunt for what?"
"Not what." Dimitri's eyes dropped to the chains on his ankles. "Who."
The cage fell silent.
"The festival lasts three days," Dimitri continued, his voice hollow. "On the first day, criminals and slaves are gathered from across the Northern Kingdoms. Hundreds of them. Sometimes thousands."
He took a shaky breath.
"On the second day, they are released into the streets of Ura at dawn. They have one goal: reach the outer wall. Touch it. That's all. If they reach the wall, they earn their freedom. Their crimes forgiven. Their chains broken."
Roman's eyes widened. "That's... that's not so bad. We could—"
"On the third day," Dimitri cut him off, "the nobles hunt."
The word hung in the air.
Hunt.
"The noble families of Ura—and visiting lords from other kingdoms—compete to see who can kill the most runners. They ride through the streets on war-beasts. They carry weapons forged by the finest smiths. They have numbers, training, and knowledge of every street."
Dimitri's hands clenched.
"The runner who kills a noble earns ten times their worth in glory. But no runner has ever killed a noble. And the noble who kills the most... they win the Golden Hunt. Prestige. Political power. Favor with the king."
He looked up at Roman.
"We are not prisoners to be sold. We are prey to be slaughtered."
Roman's face had gone gray.
"But... but you said... freedom. If we reach the wall..."
"No one reaches the wall."
Dimitri's voice was flat. Dead.
"In three hundred years of the Festival of Heroes, not one runner has touched that wall. The streets are a maze. The nobles know every corner. And their weapons..."
He shook his head.
"There is no freedom. There is only death."
The cage fell into silence.
Some of the other prisoners had been listening. A young woman began to sob quietly. An older man closed his eyes, his lips moving in silent prayer.
Roman sat frozen, his earlier joy extinguished like a candle in a storm.
"So that's it," he murmured. "We survive weeks of chains and hunger and filth... only to be butchered for entertainment."
No one answered.
What was there to say?
But Ethan wasn't looking at Roman.
He wasn't looking at Dimitri.
He was looking at the city.
At the walls. At the streets visible through the main gate. At the towers. At the layout of buildings and pathways.
His mind was racing.
NEXUS.
[YES, HOST?]
Begin analyzing the city structure. Use visual input from all angles. Cross-reference with conversation data about street layouts, noble territories, hunting patterns.
[ACKNOWLEDGED. INITIATING URBAN MAPPING PROTOCOL.]
I need a complete map of Ura. Every street. Every alley. Every potential hiding spot. Every route to the outer wall.
[UNDERSTOOD. CURRENT VISUAL DATA INSUFFICIENT FOR COMPLETE MAPPING. RECOMMEND CONTINUED OBSERVATION AS CARAVAN ENTERS CITY.]
Do it. And calculate the fastest route to the wall from any point in the city.
[AFFIRMATIVE. ADDITIONAL QUERY: WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THIS ANALYSIS?]
Ethan's jaw tightened.
We're going to win the Festival of Heroes.
[CLARIFICATION REQUIRED. HISTORICAL DATA INDICATES ZERO SUCCESSFUL COMPLETIONS OF THE HUNT IN 300 YEARS. SURVIVAL PROBABILITY CALCULATION...]
I don't care about probability.
[...SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 0.003%. HOST, THIS COURSE OF ACTION IS INADVISABLE—]
NEXUS.
[YES, HOST?]
I crossed a wormhole that should have killed me. I survived a crash that should have destroyed me. I'm walking around with technology that doesn't exist on this planet and a mutation in my brain that might kill me tomorrow.
He stared at the distant wall—that impossible barrier that no one had ever touched.
I didn't come to this world to die in some noble's trophy collection. I came here to complete a mission. And to do that, I need to survive.
A pause.
[...UNDERSTOOD, HOST. MAPPING ANALYSIS CONTINUING. RECOMMEND GATHERING ADDITIONAL INTELLIGENCE ON NOBLE HUNTING PATTERNS, WEAPON TYPES, AND TACTICAL FORMATIONS.]
Good. Keep working.
The cart rolled through the outer gates.
And Ethan began to memorize everything.
Inside UraThe city was chaos.
Streets twisted and turned without logic—centuries of construction layered upon construction, old districts swallowed by new ones, pathways that led nowhere and alleys that seemed to loop back on themselves.
A maze, Ethan thought. Dimitri was right.
But NEXUS was working.
[STREET MAPPING: 12% COMPLETE. IDENTIFIED 34 MAJOR THOROUGHFARES. 127 SECONDARY PATHWAYS. 400+ TERTIARY ALLEYS. PROCESSING...]
The cart moved deeper into the city. People lined the streets—not to watch the slaves, but to prepare for the festival. Merchants argued over stall placement. Children chased each other with wooden swords. Musicians tuned instruments.
They're excited, Ethan realized. For them, this is a celebration. Entertainment.
He filed away the observation.
They'll be drunk. Distracted. The crowds might provide cover...
[NOTABLE OBSERVATION: CITY LAYOUT FAVORS DEFENSIVE ARCHITECTURE. NARROW STREETS BETWEEN MAJOR DISTRICTS. MULTIPLE CHOKEPOINTS. EASY TO TRAP RUNNERS.]
What about rooftops?
[ANALYZING... ROOFTOP TRAVEL POSSIBLE IN 67% OF DISTRICTS. HOWEVER, VISUAL EXPOSURE SIGNIFICANTLY INCREASED. NOBLES MAY HAVE ARCHERS OR SPOTTERS IN ELEVATED POSITIONS.]
Archers?
[LIKELY. RECOMMEND GATHERING INTELLIGENCE ON NOBLE HUNTING METHODS.]
Ethan glanced at Dimitri.
The old man sat slumped against the bars, defeated. Lost.
He knows more than he's saying.
And I need that information.
"Dimitri."
The old man looked up, his eyes empty.
"The nobles," Ethan said quietly. "How do they hunt? What weapons do they use? Do they work alone or in groups?"
Dimitri stared at him.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because I'm going to survive."
Something flickered in Dimitri's eyes.
Surprise. Disbelief. And beneath it all—the faintest spark of something long dead.
Hope.
"You're mad," the old man whispered.
"Maybe. But I'm also the only person in this cage who's actually thinking. So tell me—how do the nobles hunt?"
A long silence.
Then Dimitri leaned forward.
"The noble houses each have their own hunting styles," he began, his voice low. "House Vorn prefers mounted combat. They ride shadow-wolves—beasts bred for speed and silence. They strike fast and move on."
Ethan nodded. [RECORDING.]
"House Krell uses ranged weapons. Master archers with bows that can pin a man from two hundred meters. They position themselves on rooftops and pick off runners from a distance."
[NOTED. ROOFTOP TRAVEL INADVISABLE IN KRELL TERRITORIES.]
"House Thane relies on numbers. They flood the streets with soldiers, driving runners into kill zones. No finesse—just overwhelming force."
[IDENTIFIED TACTICAL PATTERN: ENCIRCLEMENT AND ELIMINATION.]
"And House Morrow..." Dimitri paused. "They're the worst. They hunt on foot. Alone. They track runners for hours, playing with them. They enjoy the fear."
"What about the streets?" Ethan pressed. "Are there any areas the nobles avoid? Any places that are harder to hunt in?"
Dimitri frowned. "The Undercity."
"Undercity?"
"Beneath Ura lies a network of tunnels. Old sewers. Catacombs. Smuggling routes. The nobles don't go down there—it's beneath their dignity, and the tunnels are too narrow for their beasts."
Ethan's eyes sharpened. "How do you access it?"
"There are grates throughout the city. Most are sealed, but some..." He trailed off. "Why do you even care? Even if you reach the Undercity, you'd have to come back up eventually. And they'll be waiting."
"Let me worry about that."
[UPDATING MAP. PRIORITY: IDENTIFY UNDERCITY ACCESS POINTS.]
The cart turned onto a wider street.
Ahead, Ethan could see their destination—a massive stone building surrounded by iron fencing. Guards stood at every entrance.
The slave processing center.
Where they would be registered, branded, and prepared for the hunt.
Roman looked at the building with dead eyes.
"This is it, then. The end."
Ethan said nothing.
But his mind was still working.
[STREET MAPPING: 34% COMPLETE. IDENTIFIED 7 POTENTIAL UNDERCITY ACCESS POINTS WITHIN VISIBLE RANGE. CALCULATING OPTIMAL ESCAPE ROUTES...]
The festival lasts three days, Ethan thought. Day one: preparation. Day two: release. Day three: the hunt.
That gives me two days to gather more information. To find allies. To plan.
He looked at Dimitri—old, frail, but knowledgeable.
He looked at Roman—cynical, broken, but still alive.
He looked at the other prisoners—terrified, hopeless, but potential distractions.
In any game, the pieces that seem worthless can become the most valuable.
The cart stopped.
Guards approached, keys jangling.
"Everyone out! Single file! Any resistance and you die before the festival even starts!"
The prisoners shuffled forward, chains clinking.
Ethan stepped out of the cage, his feet touching the cobblestones of Ura for the first time.
He looked up at the sky—violet, alien, impossibly far from home.
Maya.
I promised I'd come back.
And I keep my promises.
[HOST. ALERT.]
What is it, NEXUS?
[ANALYSIS UPDATE ON BRAIN MUTATION. NEW DATA AVAILABLE.]
Ethan's heart skipped.
Tell me.
[THE MUTATION IS ACCELERATING. NEURAL PATHWAY RESTRUCTURING DETECTED IN PREFRONTAL CORTEX AND TEMPORAL LOBES. CAUSE: CONTINUED EXPOSURE TO UNKNOWN RADIATION RESIDUE FROM WORMHOLE TRANSIT.]
What does that mean?
[UNKNOWN. CHANGES MAY AFFECT COGNITIVE FUNCTION, SENSORY PROCESSING, OR MOTOR CONTROL. ESTIMATED TIME UNTIL CRITICAL PHASE: 5 DAYS.]
Five days?
[AFFIRMATIVE. RECOMMEND MINIMIZING PHYSICAL AND MENTAL STRESS TO SLOW MUTATION PROGRESSION.]
Ethan almost laughed.
Minimize stress. While I'm about to be hunted through a city by nobles on war-beasts.
[ACKNOWLEDGED. RECOMMENDATION MAY BE... IMPRACTICAL.]
You think?
The guards shoved him forward.
Ethan walked toward the processing center, his mind burning with calculations.
The festival is in two days.
The mutation reaches critical in five.
I have NEXUS. I have information. I have a plan forming.
He looked at the massive walls in the distance—the goal that no one had ever reached.
Three hundred years of failure.
Time to break the streak.