"Do you think they'll be alright…" Tear muttered, pacing the room, his hands restless, twisting against one another.
"Calm down. They'll be fine," Clara said gently, placing both hands on his shoulders. "We did everything we could. With your training, there won't be any mishaps." Their eyes met, lingering.
You don't understand. Tear thought bitterly. If that thing in Remy awakens again… no one will be safe.
"I hope so," he whispered aloud, his voice nearly swallowed by the silence.
For a moment, the two stood caught in one another's presence, as though held in a trance.
"Tear!" Kat's voice cut through, booming into the room.
Clara flinched and stepped back instantly, flustered.
"What is it, my love?" Tear said, hurrying to Kat.
"Why didn't I go with them?" she asked, her tone mournful. "What if they get hurt? Who will heal them? Is it… because I'm forgetful, isn't it?" She sulked, her voice small.
"No, not at all." Tear gripped her shoulders firmly. "You are brilliant, Kat. Don't ever think yourself less. I know you wanted to go, but this mission needed the boys to pose as refugees so they would be placed in the labor section of the Saint recruitment. That was the only way."
"Oh… okay." Kat lowered her gaze, her voice still soft but touched by understanding.
Somewhere in the northern reaches of Sethfar, the boys came upon a towering grey wall. Once built of pale limestone, its luster had long since rotted into grime and shadow. Above, soldiers stood like statues, slingbows drawn and arrows trained on all who dared approach.
No grass grew near the city's borders. For miles, the land was barren—nothing but dirt and withered stalks. The carcasses of animals lay strewn across the wasteland, like grotesque ornaments marking the road to ruin.
The three boys were clothed in rags—threadbare, but not so much as to be mistaken for beggars. Before them loomed a massive gate, its lowered drawbridge stretched over a river the color of spoiled earth. The water was a thick brown, unlike anything Remy had ever seen.
The gate itself was fashioned from cedar wood, bound with bands of cold iron and driven through with great steel nails, a fortress stitched together by cruelty and necessity.
"Chad… psst, Chad," Charles whispered, his voice tight.
"What?" Chad muttered back, shrugging at his brother's tone.
"Aren't you scared?" Charles asked, eyes wide, words trembling at the edges.
"Just a little," Chad admitted. "But it'll be alright. We went over this so many times. We'll make it—believe me."
"Huuu… okay. Okay," Charles breathed, trying to steady himself.
I never knew Chad was so dependable, Remy thought, a fragile calm seeping into him from his friend's quiet conviction.
"Halt!" A voice thundered before them.
The boys froze where they stood, waiting for further instruction.
"What business have you with August?"
Two men blocked the way, broad as stone pillars, clad head to toe in metal. Their faces were hidden behind helmets, save for the narrow slits that allowed their eyes to watch like hawks.
Chad stepped forward, bowing his head slightly. "Sirs, we've come from Luig. Our parents were farmers, but… But the rains have failed us. The land is barren now and yields no food. We seek refuge within the great city of August."
"Luig, you say…." One of the guards murmured.
The guard studied him, silence heavy, before rumbling, "Mmm… show me your deeds from the Church."
Chad turned, glancing at his companions. Behind them, the cart that bore their meager belongings groaned under its weight. He hurried to a daffodil-colored sack, rummaged, and drew out an envelope sealed in red wax, stamped with the emblem of a staff and stars.
"Hold this for me," the first guard muttered, passing his oversized axe into his companion's hands.
He carried the envelope to a small table at the gate's edge. There, a seal stamp lay waiting. He pressed it against the wax.
There boys' eyes widened in anticipation; the guard's actions were slow and deliberate, and time felt like it was stretching.
With a faint hiss, the letter sprang open.
The boys exhaled as one, relief loosening their tight chests. They had seen this before—an enchantment of the Church, a safeguard to prove authenticity.
The guard lifted the parchment and held it against the sun. Golden script shimmered across the page, the words glowing faintly as though alive. His eyes traced the writing in silence before reading aloud:
"Chadwick, Charles, and Remy, sons of Luig. The Church testifies that you are neither laborers nor slaves, that you owe no debts to any lord, and that you come to August to begin a new life."
The boys stood rigid as the words carried across the gate, the proclamation ringing like judgment.
The guard folded the letter with care and slipped it back into its case. "Well," he said at last, turning to his companion, "it seems everything is in order."
Then, with a nod: "Conner. Scan them for Sar."
He gestured, signaling the boys forward. Conner—his armor creaking with each movement—motioned them toward a narrow door set in the wall. The first guard returned the letter to Chad before following behind.
Inside, the air was thick, stale with the acrid stench of old smoke. The cramped chamber felt less like an office and more like a holding cell. Rusted chain-cuffs lay scattered on the floor, their weighty clatter echoing when the boys brushed past.
Against the far wall stood a squat brown table, plain and scarred. Upon it rested a crystal sphere—smooth, luminous, and strangely out of place, like a relic torn from a shrine and abandoned here.
Well… take a seat. It will be over quickly." Conner's voice was flat and practiced as he gestured toward a row of worn chairs.
The boys obeyed, lowering themselves onto the creaking wood, though their movements betrayed their nerves. Remy's gaze wandered the chamber, restless.
His eyes caught on a silver shield propped against the far wall; its polished surface was the only clean thing in the room. A young woman with braided hair sitting cross-legged was etched on it.
"Since you are the eldest," the guard said, his tone leaving no room for hesitation, "place your hand upon the crystal."
Chad's arm rose with measured steadiness, but Remy could see the faint tremor in his fingers as they reached toward the smooth, waiting sphere.