Ren shifted slightly, uneasy. The further they went, the more he felt like a stone being dragged into a river's center, helpless against the pull.
Checkpoints broke the monotony of the drive. The first was at the Zone Three boundary: soldiers in uniform, their eyes cold, hands brushing the triggers of mana-rifles as they scanned the convoy. Devices hummed as mana signatures were logged and compared against records. The envoy in the front car stepped out only once, handing over a crystalline tablet embossed with the seal of the Presidency.
The gates opened without a word.
From there, the city changed again. Zone Three was different, buildings taller, cleaner, facades maintained with enchantments to keep them gleaming. The streets no longer bore the scuff of everyday life. Here, silence was not neglect but control.
Ren caught glimpses of people. Men and women dressed in layered fabrics that shimmered faintly with mana-thread, children escorted by drones or family guards. They didn't look at the convoy the way Zone Five's residents had. They didn't look at it at all. Trained indifference.
By the time they passed into Zone Two, dusk had deepened. Towers of glass and crystal pierced the sky, their peaks lit with flowing glyphs. The convoy slid through underlit streets where the air itself hummed faintly with order. Here, even the lamps bent their glow in patterns too precise to be accidental.
Ren leaned against the seat, watching as the world of his childhood shrank further behind. For the first time, he realized how far away home already felt.
His mother's grip tightened, as if sensing the same thing. His father, still silent, kept his gaze forward.
And Yato finally spoke, his voice low, not for the envoys but for Ren alone.
"Remember this, Ren. What you see is not just wealth. It is power shaped into stone and air. Power that decides who belongs and who doesn't."
Ren swallowed, but didn't answer. The truth needed no reply.
Ahead, beyond Zone Two, rose the unseen boundary of Zone One. The circle no ordinary citizen ever entered. Beyond it, the President's estate waited.
The road was leading them not just deeper into the city, but into the heart of authority itself.
The convoy slowed as the city's pulse shifted again.
Zone Two bled away behind them, its ordered lights fading into the hushed expanse of Zone One's perimeter. There were no crowded streets here, no wandering citizens, not even the carefully curated families Ren had glimpsed earlier. Only silence, cut clean and absolute.
The road curved upward, wider now, lined with black stone that gleamed faintly under pale-blue glyphs. At regular intervals, obelisks stood watch—monoliths carved with runes so old they hummed with a resonance that pressed against the skin. These weren't for show. Ren could feel it, an instinctive tightening in his chest. The air itself was locked, disciplined into stillness.
Watson muttered something under his breath, half curse, half awe. Mira shot him a warning glance, though her own posture was tense, every muscle wound taut.
And then the gates appeared.
They rose suddenly out of the road ahead. Two titanic slabs of alloy and etched stone, bound together by a lattice of glowing sigils. They did not swing open like ordinary gates. They pulsed, alive, as though watching.
The convoy stopped a dozen paces before them.
For a moment, nothing moved. Even the engines hushed, their hum fading into an uncanny quiet. Ren felt his mother's hand tighten on his again, her grip sharp now, protective, as if she could shield him from what towered ahead.
Then, without command, the first car's envoy stepped out. His steps clicked against the road, deliberate, unhurried. He approached a pedestal at the side of the gate. An unassuming stone block with a crystalline core glowing faintly at its heart.
Ren leaned forward, his breath shallow, watching.
The envoy placed his palm against the core. Light surged instantly, racing through the pedestal and crawling across the surface of the gates in branching veins. Symbols awakened, flaring in sequence, each one resonating with the next until the entire structure burned with pale brilliance.
A sound followed, low, resonant, like the groan of mountains shifting. The gates did not open inwards or outwards. They parted down the center, the sigil lattice unraveling in geometric precision.
Beyond them lay no city street, no familiar structures. Only a long, straight path vanishing into shadowed trees, their branches shaped unnaturally symmetrical. The estate's grounds.
The envoy turned back toward the convoy, lifting a hand in silent command. The cars rolled forward.
As their vehicle passed between the parted gates, Ren felt it. A pressure, not physical but undeniable, like invisible hands brushing against every fiber of him. Mana scanned him, dissected him and judged him. He flinched despite himself.
Yato's voice came then, quiet and even. "Gate arrays. They strip falsehoods. If you carried malice, you would not have passed."
Ren didn't ask what would have happened if the gate had rejected him. The thought alone was enough.
His parents sat rigid, silent. Mira's brows were furrowed, eyes sharp as if searching for threats hidden in the shadows. Watson tried to mask his unease with a crooked smirk, but his tapping foot betrayed him.
The gates closed behind them with a finality that echoed louder than their opening.
Ren exhaled only then, realizing he had been holding his breath.
Ahead stretched the President's estate. A road lined with flawless trees, light spilling faintly across polished stone, each detail too precise to be natural. It was not a place one visited. It was a place one was allowed into, and only at the will of its master.
Ren sat straighter, the weight of his own pulse heavy in his ears.
The road to authority had ended. Now began the test within its walls.
The cars slowed once more, rolling to a smooth halt before a wide stairway that climbed toward a looming structure of stone and glass.
Ren leaned slightly to the window. The estate did not look like the mansions of Zone One's elites. It was austere, quiet. Its walls rose sheer, black stone latticed with silver veins, each thread glowing faintly as if pulsing with the estate's own heartbeat. Wards. Not decorative, but functional.
The envoy from the lead car stepped out first, his movements sharp with habit. A moment later, their own door opened.
Yato exited immediately, surveying the grounds with the calm of someone who had stood in the worst halls. Mira and Watson followed, both instinctively close to Ren as if shielding him from sight.
Then his parents stepped out. His father first, upright despite the tension tight in his shoulders. His mother followed, her hand never far from Ren's arm.
The envoy gave them only a cursory glance before turning toward the stair. "This way. The President has cleared the audience. Guests will wait outside the chamber until summoned."
Ren's father's jaw tightened, but he inclined his head. "Understood." His voice carried a weight Ren had always known but rarely seen him use.
The envoy hesitated then, his gaze narrowing as though confirming details on a hidden slate. "Elias Calder," he said, speaking Ren's father's name aloud for the first time since they left Zone Five. His eyes shifted briefly to Ren's mother. "Serenya Calder."