The red sun hung low and heavy as the carriage approached Altier's first gate, its crimson light stretching long shadows across the massive stone walls. The structure towered—easily over two hundred feet in places—carved from dark granite veined with faint glowing ore, the kind that caught the sun and made the entire city look like it was breathing fire.
The driver leaned out to speak with the guards, flashing credentials and murmuring explanations. Joel and the stranger stood beside the carriage, waiting.
"That's the gate for normal folk," the stranger said quietly, nodding toward the wide archway where merchants, travelers, and laborers queued. "Soldiers use the second gate farther left. Nobles have their own exclusive entrance. Hierarchy's clear here."
Joel watched the line move. "So they have nobles. And structure. Good to know."
The stranger gave a single nod.
The driver finished his clearance and waved them forward. "These two are my hired protection—sent by the head manager himself. Known contract."
The guards glanced at Joel and the stranger, noted their weapons and build, then waved them through without further questions. The merchant corp head carried weight.
As the carriage rolled inside the walls, Joel felt the shift immediately. The streets widened into broad avenues lined with stone buildings of varying heights—some three stories, some ten—markets spilling out with colorful awnings, the air thick with smells of roasting meat, spices, and forge smoke. Beings of every description moved through the crowds: furred, scaled, feathered, horned, clawed. Tall ones, short ones, winged ones, multi-limbed ones. Not a single face or frame resembled his own.
The driver smiled back at them. "Big city, right? Altier was built on blood and sweat thousands of years ago. The current king is a direct descendant of the founder—the one who united the tribes to fight back against the oppressors."
Joel's brow furrowed. "Who were the oppressors?"
The driver's voice dropped, almost reverent. "Giants. And beings we still can't fully describe. They could do things that seemed god-like, but they weren't gods. None of them were kind."
He drove on in silence for a moment, then continued.
"Most were killed in the Great War. Some of us still remember it—or our elders did. My great-grandfather told stories of how ferocious they were. They ate everything—intelligent beings included. True monsters. Unstoppable because of the powers they wielded."
Joel listened, expression neutral. To him, it sounded like ancient history. He wasn't staying long enough for it to matter.
"How did your great-grandfather live long enough to tell you stories—and witness it?" he asked.
The carriage driver blinked, confused. The stranger raised his masked face to meet Joel's eyes.
"You're not from this world, are you?" the stranger said, voice low but firm.
Joel's hand tightened on the spear shaft. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He hesitated, then forced the lie. "Of course I'm from here."
Both the driver and stranger let out long, knowing sighs.
Joel exhaled. "What gave it away?"
The stranger reached slowly toward his back. Joel's instincts fired—he snapped the spear up, tip hovering at the stranger's throat in a heartbeat.
The stranger didn't flinch. Instead, he drew his two curved machetes, turned them hilt-first, and let them clatter to the carriage floor.
"I'm not going to kill you," he said calmly. "But I will explain what you don't understand."
Joel lowered the spear, heart still hammering.
The stranger sat back. "In this world, we don't know death the way you seem to. Not from sickness, old age, or wasting away. When someone reaches thirty-five, they simply… stop aging. They stay strong, sharp, capable—for hundreds, thousands of years if nothing cuts them down."
He paused, letting it sink in.
"About twenty to thirty thousand years ago, something changed. The sun turned red. Replaced by… that thing we all look at every day. Most of us grew up knowing nothing else, it has been recorded in our history."
Joel stared out at the crimson orb. "So the only way to die is… violence?"
"Blades. Fire. Crushing. Anything that destroys the body or us fast enough, that isn't time ," the driver confirmed quietly. "Otherwise, we endure."
Joel looked between them. "How old are you two?"
The stranger hesitated. "Five hundred and eighty-nine."
The driver gave a small shrug. "Four hundred and thirty-seven."
They both turned to Joel.
"And you?" the stranger asked.
Joel rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. "Twenty."
A stunned silence. Then both exhaled in unison.
"That's… short," the driver said softly.
"In the place you came from," the stranger asked, "what's the longest anyone lives?"
"Below two hundred," Joel answered.
"Short lives," they murmured together.
The stranger leaned forward. "Listen carefully. Never tell anyone you're from another world. Not everyone here welcomes other-worlders. They were the giants' strongest supporters. The reason the war dragged on for over fifty years. I'm not saying you look like them—but your age, your questions… it'll raise flags. If anyone asks, you're one hundred and twenty. Old enough to have seen things, young enough not to draw suspicion."
Joel nodded slowly. Relief mixed with caution. "Thank you. Both of you. For the information… and for not turning on me."
The driver smiled faintly. "When we reach the market district, I'll get you proper papers. Passport. Identification. Enough to move without questions."
The carriage rolled on for another four minutes—time passing unnoticed in the quiet conversation.
Then the city opened fully before them.
Altier sprawled under the red sun: towers of black stone and glowing ore, bridges arcing over wide canals, markets roaring with color and sound, banners snapping in the wind. The main gate loomed ahead—massive, rivaling the outer wall itself—flanked by statues of armored warriors and winged beasts.
The driver cracked the reins one last time.
"Welcome to Altier," he said.
Joel stared out at the endless streets, the crowds, the life that had gone on for millennia without ever knowing someone like him.
He tightened his grip on the spear.
And stepped out into the unknown.