Outside the hall, a wide staircase descended to street level. Riven's boots scraped against polished marble steps—absurdly grand for what lay hidden above.

  He kept his eyes fixed on Ulric's broad back, focusing on the steady rhythm of their descent rather than the growing brightness that leaked in from somewhere ahead. Then the final threshold—a doorway framed in light so intense it seemed solid—and Riven stepped outside for the first time in two years.

  White. Blinding, merciless white. The sunlight struck him like a physical blow, driving into his skull with the precision of a well-aimed dagger. His eyes clamped shut instantly, tears forming at their corners from the violent intrusion. When he forced them open again, the world was a blur of radiance and smeared shapes.

  Massive buildings of white marble and gold trim towered above, their edges indistinct, their details lost in the overwhelming glare.

  After two years of flickering torches and wet shadows, the pure clarity of the world felt like an invasion. His pupils contracted painfully, struggling to adjust to what any child would consider normal daylight.

  As his vision slowly adapted, his focus fragmented, latching onto random details rather than taking in the whole. The intricate lace embroidered on a passing woman's sleeve, each thread catching the light in a different way. The rhythmic clack of cart wheels against cobblestones, a steady percussion unlike the uneven drip of water in his cell. Colorful banners above shop entrances that caught the wind, lifting and twisting as if alive.

  His gaze drifted from one detail to another, not from fear, but because his mind couldn't process so much movement, so much life unfolding simultaneously. There was no single thing to hold onto, no quiet corner for his thoughts to settle.

  In the cell, sound had been a luxury. He'd learned to dissect silence, to transform a single water drop or the scrape of stone into a clear, precise map of his surroundings. But here, precision was the enemy.

  A dull pain began to pulse behind his temples. His body tensed instinctively, unprepared for a world that refused to slow down or quiet itself. His fingernails dug into his palms, creating small crescents of pain that he could focus on, something real and simple amid the chaos.

  He wanted to keep moving, to let the crowd swallow him whole, but a bitter instinct pulled at him, forcing his head to turn.

  He took one last look at the place he'd spent the last two years. His gaze fixed on the entrance. Above the ornate doors, carved in polished gold that caught the sunlight, a name gleamed: Domea Auction House.

  A simple auction house. Yeah. Right. Fucking liars.

  They regrouped just outside, standing in an uneasy circle as pedestrians flowed around them like water around stones. Ulric spoke without slowing his pace, already moving away from the building.

  "As I said, we should head to the Great Markets. About fifteen minutes on foot, plenty of places to eat there. I'm starting to get hungry."

  Not surprising, Riven thought. With a build like that, you probably eat six times a day.

  As they set off, the reality of freedom began to settle in Riven's bones.

  This part of the city was different. Not just cleaner—vibrant. Instead of the heavy stench of rot, the air here carried the smell of grilled meat and smoke from expensive wood. Men and women didn't slink through shadows with downcast heads—they walked with easy confidence, as if the very ground belonged to them. Their clothes weren't patched or stained but crisp and colorful, fabrics Riven couldn't even name.

  It all seemed distant to him. As if he were watching the world through thick, polished glass—beautiful to look at but impossible to touch.

  The cold pressure of the relic against his throat was the only thing that felt real, anchoring him to the present. A constant reminder that nothing had truly changed.

  He walked at the rear with Lya.

  After a moment, she leaned slightly toward him, careful to keep her voice low, just loud enough for him to hear. "I didn't get the chance to ask before. May I know your name?"

  He answered without hesitation. "Riven."

  She repeated it softly, as if testing the sound. "Riven... I've never heard that name before."

  A brief pause. "You already know mine. I'm Lya."

  She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You're seventeen, right? I'm eighteen."

  Riven slowed half a step, confusion flickering across his face.

  Wait. How does she—

  "Uh... yeah. How did you know?"

  For just a fraction of a second, something shifted in her expression—a flicker of surprise, quickly smoothed over. She blinked, then offered a small, casual shrug.

  "Just a guess," she said, her tone light. "You look about my age, maybe a year younger. I figured I'd aim low."

  Riven studied her for a moment, brow furrowed. It was... possible, he supposed. People guessed ages all the time. And she wasn't wrong—he was seventeen. Probably. He'd lost track of the exact day years ago.

  Still felt weird, though.

  He let it go. Not worth overthinking.

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  "Oh, so I'm older then. I guess that makes me your senior." Her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "But don't worry about that now—once we have food in front of us, I'll give you the details for tomorrow."

  She gave him a quick encouraging wink before returning her gaze to the street.

  Riven let it drop, impatient for answers but willing to wait. His eyes drifted back to the city around them.

  Argel. The White City. Fragments of memory stirred—glimpses of white stone, stories half-remembered. But seeing it was different. Everywhere he looked, the abundance of white marble made the streets gleam with an almost blinding intensity.

  They walked along the main avenue, a wide, crowded street. Marble and gold buildings lined both sides of the road. Shops and various businesses gave the street a living, almost welcoming atmosphere.

  Different types of transport crossed through the crowd—mainly horses pulling carts, but occasionally unfamiliar creatures could be seen.

  A rhythmic clacking of heavy chitin plates against marble caught his attention.

  What the hell is that?

  A massive beast, four-legged with thick gray skin like armor, pulled a heavy iron cart—decorated with a band of gold that seemed ridiculous for such a beast—with terrifying strength and without effort.

  At the end of the avenue stood a colossal arch of marble, gold, and white crystal. It dominated everything, the undeniable heart of the district.

  Riven's head tilted back, his eyes following the arch as it soared toward the sky, taller than anything else in sight. The underside of the arch was covered with faded images and symbols, like murals painted centuries ago.

  Behind the arch, an immense plaza spread out, and at its center stood a breathtaking fountain. From there, several streets branched in different directions.

  "We take the 36th," Ulric said, gesturing toward the street directly in front of them. A shorter, narrower path leading straight to the Great Markets, announced by a massive sign, weathered by the elements.

  Kellen turned back to the group, walking at an easy pace. "I know a quiet place. Straight ahead and to the right once we're in. Owner's a good man—used to welcoming people like us."

  People like us? Riven thought. Why can't they just talk like normal people instead of hiding behind riddles and secrets?

  With Kellen leading the way, they quickly arrived at an eating hall called the Golden Ladle. The building was sturdy wood, rougher than the polished marble of the avenue but more welcoming. Inside, the space opened wide—communal tables packed with patrons, voices echoing off wooden walls.

  But the noise was anything but quiet. The chatter of dozens of voices bounced off the walls in a deafening roar.

  So this is his idea of quiet? Great, can't wait to see his idea of chaos.

  A server directed them toward the end of a long communal table. Riven sat at the very edge, his stomach twisting at the sight of the rich food being served to others. The smells that had seemed appealing from outside now threatened to overwhelm him—too rich, too complex after years of prison slop.

  Lya sat across from him, eyebrows furrowed as she grimaced at a particularly loud burst of laughter nearby. She looked as out of place as he felt.

  Riven kept quiet for a moment. He wasn't interested in small talk—but she'd said she'd explain everything once they had food. If he wanted those answers, he needed to keep the conversation going.

  "Why do you look so annoyed?" he asked quietly.

  "Not really comfortable in places like this," Lya admitted, her voice barely a whisper beneath the roar of the tavern. She leaned closer, her eyes briefly darting toward the strangers beside them. "And I'd prefer not to be disturbed by people we don't know."

  Ironically, the other two didn't share her concern. Ulric and Kellen were already engaged in conversation with nearby patrons.

  Lya brought her attention back to Riven. Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment—not just curiosity, but something deeper. As if she were searching for something in his features. Then she blinked, and her expression returned to normal.

  "I promised to explain the plan for tomorrow," she began, her tone shifting to something more focused.

  She paused, searching his eyes for a moment. "But first... have you heard of the Ascensions?"

  Riven's blank stare was answer enough.

  "Okay. So..." She took a breath. "It's difficult to put into words. We call them Ascensions. They're like... separate dimensions, I suppose? Places cut off from our world. Not like walking to another city. More like... an entirely different reality." She paused, biting her lip for a second before continuing. "Inside, nothing makes sense. There are trials, monsters that shouldn't even exist, and even unique environments."

  "Why would anyone go there?" Riven asked, his voice low and rough.

  "Everyone has their own reason," Lya said, her voice dropping even lower. "Power, mostly. Or at least, that's the simplest way to put it. People want the strength to change their lives, or... find something they've lost. It's personal for each person, but it's always about becoming more than just a normal human." She took a shaky breath, giving a small uncertain smile.

  "If you succeed—and trust me, many people don't—you reach a Layer. It's... an entirely new world, Riven. It has its own sky, its own air. That's where Climbers live. Those are the ones who push through the Ascensions, always searching for the next layer." She broke off, looking a bit overwhelmed by her own explanation. "I know it sounds... crazy. But that's just how it is."

  Her voice fell even lower, almost hesitant. "Most people who enter... they don't make it. The trials are brutal." She paused, her gaze briefly drifting away. "But if enough people, if we work together..." She trailed off, not finishing the thought. Her gaze returned to Riven, something in her eyes—pity? Regret? Then it was gone.

  Riven sat in stunned silence. His mind, usually so sharp and focused on survival, faltered. Dimensions. Monsters. Worlds stacked on top of each other like floors.

  Lya's explanation hadn't been clear—she'd stumbled over words, left gaps—but the core had hit him like a physical blow. Everything he knew about the world was gone. Not just the lower districts and the upper city. There were layers. Dimensions. Entire realities beyond. His hands clenched under the table. His breathing stuttered, caught in his throat.

  How could anyone live knowing this? How could they just keep... walking, eating, talking as if the world wasn't completely different?

  Hell...

  A cold realization settled in his chest. His gaze drifted to Ulric and Kellen, then back to Lya.

  Enough people. If you work together.

  Disposable people.

  One Lir. Damaged goods. Rush to leave tomorrow.

  They didn't buy me because I'm useful. They bought me because I'm cheap. And expendable.

  A bitter taste rose in his throat.

  He took a breath, trying to steady his voice. "How..." His voice came out hoarse. He swallowed, tried again. "How... how do you enter one? How do we enter an Ascension?"

  Lya was still staring at Riven. She opened her mouth, closed it. As if she wanted to say something different. Then she shook her head slightly, so briefly that he almost missed it. "Oh, it's quite simple actually."

  "There's only one way to enter—an Ascension Gate. It's the bridge between this world and the next dimension. But they're not always open. Each one follows its own cycle." She looked toward the window, where the late afternoon light was beginning to fade. "The Gate we're taking only opens twice a year. Once in the first days of spring... and a second time tomorrow. The first day of autumn."

  Riven opened his mouth to speak, a mountain of questions pressing against his teeth. He wanted to know more about the monsters, the changing worlds. But before he could even form the words in his mind, Ulric's voice sliced through his thoughts like a cold blade.

  "We're leaving," the man said, his shadow falling across the table. A severe, unyielding expression was etched on Ulric's face as he stood. He didn't look like a man interested in stories or explanations, but more like a soldier preparing for a march.

  "Still equipment to buy," Ulric added, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And the sun won't wait. Move."