Ash stepped out of the registration hall into the open courtyard of the outpost. The stone beneath his feet was cool, damp with morning mist, and the sky above was painted in grey.
It was strangely quiet. After the panic, the hunger, the endless drifting—this stillness felt unreal.
He paused near the door, staring at the wide stone pathway that led deeper into the town. Guards marched past in formation, not in a rush—just moving with rhythm, discipline. Black banners fluttered gently atop the tall walls of the outpost tower, and the clang of iron echoed faintly from the distant forge.
Ash pressed a hand to his head. Who am I, really? he wondered.
He tried to remember his name, his family, his past—anything. But it was gone. Even the words he once spoke back on Earth... vanished. He could no longer recall his mother tongue.
Yet somehow, he could speak with the people here. The language felt natural on his tongue, like it had been carved into his very bones.
A man in armor approached him. Broad-shouldered, with a short beard and a scar running down his temple.
"You've been marked for guard duty," the officer said, handing Ash a thin plate made of blackened iron.
Ash took it slowly. It was heavy for its size, and cold like it had been newly prepared. His name was etched on the front in clean, sharp strokes:
---
Ash Stenrex
Citizen Code: E8413
Division: Defence
Assigned Post: Checkpoint N-53
Time:8:10 (changing in real time)
Duty Begins: In 2 Days
---
He stared at the plate, confused. "What is this?"
"Your identity sigil," the officer said.and said that it will his citizenship and should not be lost
Ash nodded, though the words felt hollow. He hadn't chosen this. He didn't even understand this world. But something about the stillness—the routine, the structure—kept him from breaking.
"You've been given a room in the east quarter," the officer added. "Rest while you can."
As the man turned and walked away, Ash looked down at the plate again. The name on it didn't feel like his. But for now, it was all he had.
He continued his pace towards the town
Ash crossed the arched stone bridge that linked the port to the city proper. Beneath him, a yawning abyss stretched into mist, endless and silent. Wind tugged at his sleeves, and he instinctively kept to the middle of the walkway.
As he walked, he paused to glance sideways.
The view stunned him.
On either side of the bridge, the vast city unfolded like a tapestry carved into cliffs. Towering stone pillars held clusters of buildings clinging to their sides—homes, towers, and bridges woven together with stairways and hanging lanterns. The architecture was old but dignified—sloped roofs, weathered iron, arched windows, and stone facades marked with crest symbols.
Above them, clouds drifted slowly across a pale sky. The light here was dim but golden, as if filtered through dust.
Ash drew out his card again, letting the cool metal rest in his palm. The numbers still ticked softly at the bottom—unchanging, unwavering.
He flipped it over.
This time, a new set of words shimmered faintly on the back:
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High-Rise of Lapiz
One of the Nine Districts of the High Rises
Known for: Watchtowers, Mineral Forges, Defensive Outposts
Elevation: 3rd Tier Pillar Range
---
He stared, reading it twice. He hadn't known there were districts, or tiers, or even that the world had been shaped like this. How could a piece of iron carry so much… knowledge?
As he walked, eyes still on the card, he bumped into someone.
Hard.
"Whoa there!" a deep voice barked, steadying Ash with a firm grip. The card slipped from Ash's hand, clattering on the edge of the bridge. For one heart-stopping moment, it teetered above the abyss.
Then the man bent and caught it with surprising speed.
"Careful, newcomer," the man said, grinning. He handed it back with a raised brow. "Wouldn't want to lose your name so soon, eh?"
Ash took it back with a nod, cheeks flushed. "Thanks," he muttered.
"You're not the first to wander in here dazed. Happens all the time." The man continued walking, leaving Ash behind.
Newcomer... The word echoed in his mind. So this happened to others?
He looked at the card again, uncertain. "Where am I supposed to stay?" he whispered.
The words on the plate began to fade. Then, slowly, a faint outline appeared—a sketch of a building etched in glowing lines. A name followed beneath it:
---
East Quarter Residence – Room 17
---
Ash followed the winding road through the lower tier of the city, past open markets, torch-lit alleys, and laundry lines strung between balconies. When he finally arrived at the stone building marked as the residence, he stepped through its iron-framed doorway into a quiet hall of carved wood and dim lanterns.
A young woman sat behind a desk, reading from a thick logbook.
He held out his card.
She glanced at it, then smiled politely and handed him a small key. "Room 17. Top floor."
Ash climbed the creaking steps, heart unsure of what to expect. The room was simple, but everything inside had been prepared: a dark grey uniform folded neatly on the bed, a leather belt, boots, and a brass-buckled cloak. A basin of water rested beside a mirror, and a small window overlooked the rooftops.
It wasn't home.
But it was the first roof over his head since he fell into this place.
He sat on the edge of the bed, holding the card in his hand once more. The numbers ticked on quietly. Somewhere out there, his duty waited.
But tonight, he would sleep.