"Tomorrow, we shall reach the City of the Lost."
The wagon driver hunched on his seat, left hand tugging the reins, voice carrying over the rattling wheels. His words were aimed at the young passengers huddled at the back.
"Now hear me, and remember it well." His gaze swept over them, dark and foreboding. "This city is the most dangerous place south of the Gallan Wall. Not because of the monsters in the southern plains… nor the threat of an orc raid from the north."
He paused. His eyes burned into each of them.
"It is the most dangerous place because lawlessness itself is the law." A crooked grin twisted his face. "Underground factions. Cast-outs. Banned guilds. Criminals. All thrive there. This… is their realm."
A girl's voice broke the silence.
"Why were we sent here?"
"Because you are the poorest of the poor, child," the driver said softly, almost bitter. "The weakest of the weak. Slum-born. Bottom feeders. Not fit to defend the Wall or be chosen by the Guild Defenders."
The passengers stiffened.
"We may have nothing, no training," a young man growled, fire in his eyes. "But we are not weak."
"Aye!" the driver barked. "You're not. This city survived countless sieges and famines. We survived cast off, forgotten. Aye, we are survivors!"
The wagon fell quiet again.
After a long while, the young man asked, "Do you have any advice… how we can survive?"
The driver studied him. "So you want to be the leader of this batch, do you?" He lifted his face to the star-strewn sky, the nine moons glowing faintly. "Stick together. One brotherhood. If you lead—care for them. Safety lies in unity. Stay low, avoid attention, and above all, pay your taxes to the city rulers. Do this, and you'll have fifty percent chance to survive."
He leaned forward. "The other half is luck. The dungeons you will mine are filled with beasts. Lead smartly."
Then he fell silent, his focus on the road.
The young man clenched his fists. We are not weak. We are survivors.
"Are you going to be our leader?" the same girl asked again. Hope trembled in her eyes.
He straightened, meeting the gaze of every passenger.
"My mother, my little sister, and my brother are in Maeyon, struggling to survive. We came from the Continent of the Warring Kingdoms of Man. We lost our home. We lost loved ones. But my family never lost hope."
His voice hardened. "That's why we came here—to start anew. That's why I'm here. Each of you came for your own reasons. But now, we are here to survive."
The group nodded.
"My name is Sanjit. If you agree… I will lead."
One by one, they voiced their assent.
The wagon halted.
"We've reached the boundary of the Fallen Fortresses," the driver called. "Rest and eat before we continue. Do not stray from the caravan—or you'll be lost forever."
Sanjit inhaled deeply as he stepped down. To the north, the fortress loomed against the night sky.
"The Bastion of the Unbroken Chain," the driver said, sitting on a rock beside him. "Home of the Guild Defender called Unbroken Chain. But ahead of us… lies the Fallen Fortresses. Danger waits there. But worry not—the caravan has guards enough. Just don't wander."
Campfires lit. Food was served. They ate in clusters.
Sanjit noticed a hooded figure apart from the rest, a warrior and his lone companion.
"Who is he?" Sanjit whispered to the driver.
The driver's tone dropped. "None of our business, lad. Rule one: you pry, you die."
Yet he leaned closer. "That man paid in full. Enough gold to buy horses thrice over, but he chose to travel with us, incognito. He brought a train of horses with him. Merchant, maybe. Dangerous, certainly. Don't meddle in his affairs."
The night deepened.
Then—the northern fortress erupted in flame. Bells clanged across the land.
"Orcs!" someone screamed. "To arms!"
Chaos exploded as orcs burst from the trees.
Sanjit's blood surged.
"Form a circle around the wagon! Defend those who cannot fight!"
His voice rang with authority he didn't know he had. The young ones scrambled into formation.
He marched the perimeter so all could hear. "Look to your left! Look to your right! These are your comrades tonight! Hold the circle! Defend! Survive!"
The orcs struck like thunder. Steel clashed. Blood sprayed. Sanjit's hands numbed as he parried a savage blade. The stench of sweat and oil clogged his nose.
A blow nearly cut him down—blocked at the last second by the girl.
"Anaya!" he shouted her name in shock. Another companion stabbed the beast. Another cleaved its head.
Sanjit roared, "Hold the circle!" He sprinted around the wagon, rallying. "We will survive this!"
Then the second wave came—larger, hungrier.
Fear rippled through his team.
"Companions!" Sanjit bellowed. "Stand your ground! Let them come! We are not weak! We are survivors!"
Their voices answered, defiant: "Survivors!"
The horde crashed into them—then vanished.
Orcs, gone in a blink. Weapons swung through nothing. Fighters stumbled, stunned.
Sanjit froze. Then he saw him.
The hooded warrior stood outside their circle, facing the forest.
Sanjit turned back quickly. "Bring the wounded inside! Anaya—count the injured. Find a healer. See to the fallen, bury them."
"Yes!" she ran off at once.
The survivors remained in formation, ready for more.
"We'll have to walk when the caravan moves. Stay in defense—"
"That won't be necessary."
The voice came from behind him. Sanjit spun to find the hooded warrior. Two riders approached, a line of horses trailing behind.
"W-we don't… mean any trouble, Sir Warrior," Sanjit stammered.
The hooded figure raised a calming hand. "My name is Gandy." His voice was low, firm. "I heard you earlier. I have decided to take your group under my protection."
He gestured to his companion. "This is my right hand, Subia. He will oversee my business in the City of the Lost. He will give you what you need."
The two riders stopped.
"This is Ira," Gandy said, pointing at the hulking warrior. "And this is Shivv, sorcerer, healer, evoker. Shivv—tend the wounded."
The woman bowed and moved swiftly.
Sanjit's throat tightened. "What do you want from us… in return?"
Gandy's answer was simple. "Your allegiance."
Sanjit faltered. This was no small decision. But when he turned, he saw his companions watching. Nodding. Choosing.
"You have our allegiance, Warrior Gandy," he said, heart hammering with relief.
"Good… gooood," the hooded man murmured.
Beside him, Subia's eyes glinted. Silent. Patient. A serpent coiled, waiting.