The morning sun struggled to pierce through the smog-heavy sky as the group stepped out onto the cracked streets, splitting up to cover more ground. The city felt no warmer in the light than it had under the cover of night, if anything, the daylight only highlighted the decay and suffering lurking beneath its surface.

  Luxana moved through the streets with calculated purpose, keeping her posture straight, her expression neutral, but her sharp eyes drinking in every detail. She had spent centuries observing human societies, and even with all that experience, this city’s atmosphere was suffocating. Fear clung to the people like a sickness.

  Senthos’ influence was unmistakable. Banners bearing the empire’s sigil hung from broken walls, a constant reminder of who ruled. Armored patrols moved in disciplined formations, their presence met with lowered gazes and hurried footsteps. No one met their eyes unless they had a death wish.

  As she walked past the central plaza, her gaze landed on a gruesome sight, a row of freshly executed bodies displayed as warnings. Some hung from iron posts, while others had been impaled and left in grotesque poses. A wooden sign beneath them, crudely carved, read: “TRAITORS TO SENTHOS.”

  Luxana did not flinch, but her hands clenched into fists at her sides. This was not merely rule, it was terror as governance.

  The whispers among the people were barely audible, but Luxana’s keen hearing caught them:

  “Did you hear? The blacksmith’s son was taken this time.”

  “Three this month, as always. Sent to Senthos. That’s what they say…”

  “No one ever hears from them again. But you don’t ask questions.”

  A merchant, standing behind his worn-out stall, caught her eye and quickly looked away. She approached, keeping her tone even. "Trade has been good?"

  The man hesitated before offering a curt nod. "As good as it gets."

  Luxana’s gaze flickered to the people moving past her, their eyes shadowed with unspoken fear. "And the new lord?" she asked, keeping her tone casual.

  The merchant’s face palmed instantly, his lips pressing together in silent warning. "We don’t talk about him. Not here."

  That told her everything.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of an enforcer watching their exchange, his hand drifting toward the hilt of his weapon. Deciding she had pushed enough for now, she gave the merchant a small nod and moved on, pretending to admire the wares on another stall. The enforcer lingered but did not approach.

  She exhaled slowly, continuing down the street. This city was a prison of its own making, held in place by an iron grip of fear. If she and the others wanted to get to the heart of this place, they would need to be careful.

  And they would need to move quickly.

  As she moved further down the street, a frail woman and her young daughter sat huddled near a crumbling wall, their eyes hollow with exhaustion. The mother whispered faint prayers while the child clutched at her stomach, too weak to cry. A small, chipped bowl sat between them, containing nothing but a few worthless coppers.

  Something tightened in Luxana’s gut, an unfamiliar weight pressing in her chest. She had walked this earth for centuries, had seen the fall of cities and the deaths of countless mortals. She had long convinced herself that she was above such suffering, that she had built a shield strong enough to distance herself from the pains of the human world. And yet, sometimes, against her better judgment, emotion still slipped through the cracks.

  She told herself it was just logic, that keeping these people alive meant gathering valuable information. But as she looked at the frail girl, at the mother trying to hold herself together for her child, she knew there was something deeper pulling at her, something she didn’t want to name.

  Luxana slowed her pace. She had little left herself, but the sight stirred something in her, a memory of others who had been discarded by the powerful, left to fend for themselves. She reached into her belt and pulled out her last coin, placing it into the bowl without a word.

  The mother’s eyes widened in shock. "Bless you, stranger… we haven’t eaten in days."

  Luxana crouched slightly, keeping her voice low. "You live here?"

  The woman nodded quickly, casting a nervous glance at the patrols. "All my life. Before... before they came."

  "The lord?" Luxana asked, keeping her tone neutral.

  The woman swallowed hard, glancing down at her daughter. "Don’t ask questions. That’s what keeps you safe. But... if you must know something, watch the merchants. The ones who still have more than enough? They know the game. And..." Her voice trembled. "People disappear from the lower districts. Quietly. No screams. No bodies. Just... gone."

  Luxana nodded, absorbing the information. "Thank you. Stay safe."

  As she turned to leave, she felt eyes on her. Another Senthos enforcer appeared from the crowd and had been watching her exchange, his gaze locking onto her with cold calculation. Just how many of them were there? Was she spotted and being watched?

  She cursed inwardly. Standing out was dangerous.

  Instead of returning the way she came, she casually adjusted her stride, leading the enforcer away from the marketplace and toward a narrow alleyway between two collapsed buildings. She stopped near a pile of abandoned crates, feigning interest in the surroundings until the enforcer stepped closer.

  "You ask too many questions for a simple traveler," the man muttered, his hand drifting toward his weapon.

  Luxana met his gaze evenly. "I ask what I need to survive. That isn’t a crime... yet."

  The enforcer tilted his head. "That depends. Who are you really?"

  She smirked slightly, sensing an opening. "Just someone looking for work. Unless, of course, your city has no need for sharp eyes and a steady hand?"

  “You ask too many questions for someone just looking for work.”

  Luxana suppressed a curse, but kept her face emotionless.

  She stepped forward, letting her aura unfold just a bit, invisible to the naked eye but she saw the subtle signs, the guard swallowed hard and his eyes shifted away from her gaze.

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  “I’m new to this place just trying to learn the way of things here and find work. Is that a problem?”

  The guard hesitated. She was clearly not an ordinary traveler, but her demeanor was controlled, her words carefully chosen. Finally, he let out a quiet huff. "You’re either smart or reckless. Either way, don’t make me regret letting you walk away."

  Luxana dipped her head slightly, an unspoken acknowledgment of the warning before slipping back into the city’s crowd.

  Realizing she needed to blend in better, Luxana made her way toward one of the more active trade alleys, a space where workers and travelers came to barter and haggle. She quickly spotted a stall selling second-hand clothing, a collection of tattered robes and worn tunics.

  With only a few coppers left, she needed another way to make money fast. That was when she noticed a group of gamblers and traders exchanging more than just coin, they were trading information.

  Luxana observed them for a moment, listening in on their conversations. One mentioned a grain shipment being delayed. Another whispered about an upcoming security shift.

  She approached the table smoothly. "You lot deal in more than just coin, don’t you?" she asked, her voice casual but knowing.

  A heavyset man with sharp eyes looked her over. "Depends. You got something worth sharing?"

  Luxana smirked. "Depends. You got some coin?"

  She carefully fed them small, valuable insights from places she had visited before, distant ruins, hidden caves, and the locations of old battlefields where relics or lost treasures might still be found. She spoke of passages through dangerous terrain that only a skilled traveler could navigate, places where supplies could be scavenged, or routes that smugglers used long ago. Not enough to put herself at risk, but enough to make them interested.

  By the time she walked away, she had enough coin to buy a full disguise and more. She had also picked up valuable information from the merchants, details about which factions held power, how trade functioned under the new rule, and which areas of the city were safest to operate in. While most people feared speaking openly, traders always knew where coin flowed, and from their whispers, Luxana learned just how tightly controlled the city's economy had become. The new lord had his hands in every transaction, and those who refused to comply simply disappeared.

  As she slipped into her newly acquired plain cloak and worn-out boots, she felt the weight of the coins in her pouch. For the first time since entering this city, she wasn’t just reacting, she was ahead of the game.

  Meanwhile, Shilley wandered through the narrow streets, weaving past hurried pedestrians and the ever-watchful eyes of Senthos enforcers. While the city was suffocating under the weight of its rulers, there was still life tucked away in the corners, people trying to hold onto something normal.

  Her steps eventually led her toward a small, crowded neighborhood near the lower district. The smell of stale bread, damp stone, and the lingering tang of burning metal from distant forges clung to the air. Here, people talked in whispers, their movements cautious, their smiles fleeting. It was a place where fear and hope coexisted in an uneasy balance.

  Shilley wasn’t wandering aimlessly, she had a plan, albeit a loosely formed one. The city’s mood had shifted. The merchants, the workers, even the beggars, everyone seemed more tense than usual. She didn’t have to listen too hard before picking up murmurs about the monthly offering.

  She edged closer to a food stall, pretending to inspect a bundle of dried fruit while keeping her ears open.

  "Another three children this month," one man muttered. "Damn shame."

  "Shame? It’s a disgrace!" another snapped. "Since when does Senthos need to steal from its own people? If they wanted recruits, they could’ve asked…"

  "Lower your voice!" an older woman hissed. "We don’t question Senthos. That’s how you survive."

  Shilley frowned. The idea of children being taken felt wrong, but she still didn’t understand the full picture.

  "What do they even do there?" someone asked hesitantly.

  A long silence followed. Then, someone muttered, "No one really knows."

  Shilley’s grip tightened on the fruit in her hand. No one knows? That didn’t make sense.

  "What about the families?" she asked casually, slipping into the conversation. "Do they get letters? News?"

  The people exchanged uneasy glances.

  "You’d think so," the first man admitted. "But as far as I know, once they’re gone, they’re gone. Some say they get trained, some say they’re sent far away… but the parents never hear from them again."

  Shilley nodded slowly, filing that away. There were still too many unknowns, but if she could talk to someone directly affected, she might get some real answers.

  "Who was taken this time?" she asked.

  One of the women hesitated before answering. "The blacksmith’s boy, for one. And I think there was a family over by the east side… the mother’s got dark hair, real thin, poor thing looked like she was about to break."

  That was enough. Now she had a lead.

  The news had hit her harder than she expected. Children taken, every month, like clockwork. Sent to Senthos for 'education', that was the official story. But why had no one ever heard from them again? No letters, no visits, no messengers boasting of their children's success. The absence of proof gnawed at her, making the whole thing feel like a fragile illusion people forced themselves to believe.

  The thought settled in her chest like a lead weight. She had always known rulers could be cruel, but this, this was something else. It was systematic. The tight grip on free speech, the frequent public executions, the strict control over movement, and now the forced removal of children under the guise of education, each piece on its own might not have been enough to stir people to fight back, but together, they created something much worse. A system designed to keep people just desperate enough to comply, but too afraid to rebel. And worst of all, it was working.

  That alone made her sick to her stomach. It wasn’t just this city, it was everywhere. No matter where she went, things seemed to be getting worse. She had once believed that despite all the cruelty in the world, people always found a way to fight back. But now, all she saw were places like this, places where fear had settled in like a permanent shadow, places where people learned not to hope because hope only led to heartbreak. It made her wonder if anything could actually change... or if the world was simply breaking apart one piece at a time.

  She needed to see it for herself, to find a family affected by this, to understand why no one fought back. But what would it take to give people hope in a place like this? Here, oppression wasn’t just enforced through weapons, It was a trap designed to break their spirits before they could even think of fighting. Fear, intimidation, the constant threat of punishment, it all kept them obedient. And even if there were those who resisted, they were likely silenced before they could inspire others.

  The thought made her sick. People should be free to live their lives without the weight of terror pressing down on them. But there were always those who hungered for power, those who saw control as their right. What could she, one person, do against something so vast and ingrained?

  She pondered that for a long moment. The logical answer was nothing. One person couldn't change an entire city, couldn't bring down an empire. But then, if everyone believed that, nothing would ever change.

  So, she made up her mind. Even if she was just a tiny grain of sand fighting against a desert, she would do her part.

  As she moved through the lower district, she kept an eye out for anyone who wasn’t just surviving but trying to fight against the slow suffocation of this place. That’s when she overheard a quiet conversation from a small group gathered near a food stall. A hunched-over man murmured something about 'the latest selection' while another nodded grimly. Shilley casually shifted closer, pretending to inspect a nearby crate of bruised fruit, listening to their hushed tones.

  'Poor bastards. Saw the father just last night, nearly lost it when he found out his boy was chosen.'

  'Nothing to be done. He’ll hand the kid over, same as the rest. Better that than what happens if you refuse.'

  Shilley's stomach twisted. She had what she needed.

  Following the vague directions she pieced together, she moved through the lower district until she spotted them, a family huddled in the shadow of a collapsed building, whispering anxiously among themselves.

  A mother, a father, and a young boy, no older than eight. The boy clutched his mother’s arm, his wide eyes darting around, frightened. The woman kept smoothing his hair, whispering assurances that even Shilley could tell were hollow. The father stood tense beside them, looking as if he were on the verge of breaking apart.

  She didn’t approach immediately. Instead, she observed, the quiet grief in their eyes, the way they kept glancing toward the enforcers who patrolled just a little too close. It didn’t take long to put the pieces together.

  This was one of the families about to lose their child.

  Shilley clenched her fists. A bubbling frustration churned in her chest. She had seen desperation before, but never like this, never this quiet, this forcibly contained.

  Taking a breath, she finally stepped forward. "Hey."

  The parents stiffened immediately, turning to her with cautious expressions. The father shielded his son instinctively, his hand hovering near his belt where a dull blade sat.

  "I’m not here to cause trouble," Shilley said quickly, raising her hands. "I was just hoping I could speak to you for a bit."

  The mother studied her for a long moment before speaking. "Let's go inside. Fewer ears that way."