The carriage started slowing down as the silver wheels ground against the stone-paved roads of Nohoch Ik’Balam.
Zora tilted his head, taking in the sounds of the city. His hearing filled the gaps his eyes couldn’t see—the heavy groan of northern trains pulling loaded carts, the distant clang of hammers against chunks of raw ore, and the constant hum of a dozen bartering tongues filled his ears. Supposedly, this was the beating heart of the northwest: both a transit and a mining city that every man, woman, and child had to pass to get anywhere else in the empire.
“All roads in the northwest lead here,” Machi said from her seat across the table, her voice even and composed. “More ore and mineral goods pass through this city than any other borough in the empire. Without Nohoch Ik’Balam, the entire northwest would not be able to prove its use to the Capital.”
‘Prove its use’—as if a living, beating city of this scale needed a reason to exist. Flat-topped temples of all shapes and sizes were interspersed throughout the buildings, their stone walls etched with patterns of giant ants locked in eternal procession. The types of mushroom trees planted and grown by the sidewalks changed every street or so to indicate they’d rolled into a different district. He didn’t even have to listen to the actual conversations underneath the hustle and bustle. This wasn’t just a transit and mining city. There were enough travellers and outsiders here to start a small diplomatic dispute should anything happen to them.
All things considered, Nohoch Ik’Balam seemed like the city connecting the Attini Empire to the rest of the continent as well, so it stood to reason why Ifas could pull over right by the side of the main street to let the three of them out. They were in empire territory, but they weren’t in empire territory.
Assassins were always going to be a nuisance, but no Royal Capital Guard would be coming here to mess with Zora’s day.
“... Here you go,” Ifas grunted, stepping around the opened door to help Kita and Machi out as he grinned at Zora. “The trip to Nohoch Ik’Balam has already been paid in full by your benefactor, so what’s the plan from here out? Do you need me to stick around for the ride back to the Salaqa Region?”
Zora thought for a moment as he climbed out of the carriage. Hiring a driver to anchor around a foreign region wasn’t cheap, especially when they’d probably be here for a few months at the very least. “No need, good man,” he said. “It’s too expensive. We can figure things out with another driver when it’s time for us to—”
Kita put a hand to his mouth, the sound accompanied by the rustling of her uniform. “No need to worry about that.” There was a faint clink as she withdrew a heavy purse from her pocket. “How much do you charge for a week’s anchoring?”
Ifas let out a low whistle as she poured a small mountain of coins into his cupped hands. “Well, I’d say it usually depends on where I’m being told to anchor around, but this’ll do for half a year, at the very least,” he said, a grin in his voice. “Thank you, little miss. I’ll find myself an inn and take a vacation while I’m at it. Whenever you need my services, I’ll be there. Just call me over with this.”
Zora watched the driver press something into Kita’s outstretched hand. Its smooth surface and ridges gave away its purpose immediately, though the design that was in the shape of a human skull was a tad bit… excessive.
“A trinket from my homeland,” Ifas said, dipping into a curt, shoddy bow. “Blow the whistle, and I’ll hear it wherever I am. Be warned, though—I’m sure the sound will give anyone nearby a fright for their life.”
With that, Ifas hopped back onto his driver’s seat and cracked the reins, riding his silver ant carriage away. Zora’s ears lingered on the sounds of the turning wheels for a few more seconds before he glanced at the whistle in Kita’s hand.
… A death whistle, hm?
“This way,” Machi said, calm as ever as she beckoned the two of them to follow. “Welcome to Nohoch Ik’Balam, by the way. We do not need to fear being pursued by any Royal Capital Guards here. We can walk with our heads held high.”
The morning sun was merciless over the city as the three of them paced towards the centre of the district. The warmth soaked into the air, mingling with the constant buzz of life that made the city feel… well, alive. It wasn’t cold and dreary like some of the northeastern boroughs he’d been to. The rhythmic clatter of wheels on rail tracks, the shouted exchanges of merchants bargaining over mined ore, and the occasional hiss of steam as machinery exhaled from some unseen workshop—this wasn’t the first mining city he’d passed through, but the scale of it was staggering.
He was totally content with just walking in silence so he could sightsee with his ears, but Kita had other plans.
“Zora,” she began, her voice curious and a bit cautious. “Do you… not have much money on you?”
“I don’t have any,” he replied bluntly.
The princess and her servant stopped mid-step, shoes skidding slightly against the uneven stone road.
“... None? At all?”
“None,” he repeated, turning his head slightly in their direction.
“Then… how did you survive the last two years on the road? Don’t tell me you—”
“Camped most of the time.”
“In the fungi forests?”
“And most times I ate what I found. Or I took food from the strongholds I passed through.”
“Of all the things you could’ve taken from the strongholds, you took food?”
He shrugged listlessly. “A hungry ghost resides in a hungry body.”
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Kita sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. “And what about clothes? Basic daily amenities? Shelter?”
“Improvised. Whittled out of wood. I carved mushroom hollows into caves and lived in them. You’d be surprised at how warm the inside of a mushroom can get when you can summon fire with your breath.”
“... You’ve been living like a stray ant.”
“Works for me.”
Kita let out a deep breath before reaching into her uniform again. He heard the faint rustle of fabric and the clink of coins as she pulled out a pouch and handed it to him. “Take this,” she said firmly. “A thousand silvers. I know it’s not a lot, but whenever you need more, just come to either me or Machi. We’ll give you—”
“What for?” he asked jokingly, accepting the pouch without protest. “To wit, there is nothing in this world that cannot be solved with magic. I could speak ‘bend thy knees and hand over all thine possessions’, and there is a real, solid chance that a third of the children in this city will just—”
“Don’t even joke about robbing people with your voice,” Kita muttered. “And if you’re going to be wandering around the empire as an affiliate of the Salaqa Household, then you must conduct yourself in a noble, dignified manner. If you need something done, it’s better to solve it with money than to risk your life and reputation doing… whatever it is you’ve been doing the past two years.”
Zora hummed as he pocketed the pouch, but he didn’t outright agree to her final request.
As they continued down the street, the sounds of the city enveloped them even harder, even louder. He started focusing on the actual conversations around him. As a hub of commerce and culture drawing people from all across the continent, he picked up fragments of dialects he hadn’t heard in years—sharp and clipped tones from southeastern Kichel, lilting cadences from merchants in northeastern Ixnal, and raspy, breathless voices signature to people who worked closely with the Divine Fungus Trees. Including those who worked with the Divine Fungus Tree in Nohock’Ikbalam, there were probably loads of people from the other Divine Fungus Trees as well.
But nobody here is from the Capital.
At least, nobody’s speaking the far southern tongues.
“It’s a good breeding ground for rumors,” he mused aloud.
Kita glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“A place like this,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the surrounding streets. “People from all across the empire come here to cut their lips loose. If someone knows someone who knows something about Decima, they’ll be here.”
Kita frowned slightly. “Do you really think she’d leave a trail here when my father hasn’t found a single clue in well over half a decade?”
“No. But people like to talk. And if we’re assuming Decima has influence across the entire empire—even if the Capital’s powerful military influence doesn’t exactly extend to here—someone here has to share the same suspicions as your father, and if there’s one thing you can count on, it’s that ill weeds grow apace. Delinquent students won’t share their grievances when they’re surrounded by honour students, but when you put them in a class full of other delinquents? They’ll start talking.”
They passed a marketplace crowded with vendors shouting over one another to advertise their goods. The scents of grilled meat, fresh mushroom stalks, and ground spices filled the air, blending into a heady aroma that clung to his senses. He paused briefly, tilting his head to listen as a trader argued with a customer over the quality of his obsidian tools—nothing to note there, but he was satisfied with how people talked so freely in the northwest.
He’d spend the next few months combing through the districts for rumours and information about Decima, slowly and steadily.
Eventually, the clamour of the marketplace gave way to the steady hum of machinery. They were entering the factory district. The pounding of giant autohammers and the hiss of molten metal being poured into molds dominated the soundscape. Workers shouted instructions to one another, their voices competing with the roar of furnaces and the screech of iron wheels grinding against rails. Knowing what he knew of Nohoch’Ikbalam, Zora assumed they’d find the Nohoch Lord somewhere around here… probably in the largest factory dead centre of the district, which was just right in front of them.
It towered over the others, its walls reinforced with iron and adorned with even more carved reliefs of ants marching in intricate patterns. This was a place where natural and cultural tokens came to die. The air here was dense with the smell of oil and hot metal, underscored by the faint acrid tang of bioarcanic essence used to power some of the more advanced machinery—there was no ‘softness’ here. No ‘peace’, no ‘comfort’. War machines and weapons would be rolled out of the giant tunnels extending from the back of the factory, and then they’d be sent to the far southern frontlines to be destroyed in battles against the Swarm.
Appropriately, as the three of them approached the factory gate, a group of guards posted in front of it stepped forth to block their way. The clinking of the obsidian-tipped spears and the measured cadence of their footsteps suggested a well-trained unit. There were even several guards posted on watchtowers flanking both sides of the gate, pointing rifles down at them.
“Halt!” one of the frontline guards barked. “State your business.”
Zora instinctively rubbed his throat, grimacing at the sheer number of rifle barrels pointed at them. He didn’t think he had to fling any spell at them, but he couldn’t let Kita or Machi get hurt. He didn’t even want to risk a single bullet being fired in this district.
Thankfully, it didn’t seem like he had to do anything.
“Stand down,” a new voice called out. It was deep and authoritative, carrying over the noise of the factory district. The frontline guards immediately stepped aside as a man emerged from behind the gate. His footsteps were deliberate, and the faint rustle of fine fabric and the weight of a metal crest tied around his left sleeve told Zora everything he needed to know—this man was no ordinary factory overseer.
But what kind of lord greets his guest by the door?
A brave one, or a foolish one?
“... Kita,” the man said warmly, opening his arms.
“Uncle Yiru!”
Kita’s tone brightened as she rushed forward to embrace him, and Machi followed her lady with a small smile. Yiru laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and patted Kita back.
“It’s good to see you again, Kita. How’s the academy? Are you still one of those… one of those ‘Five Princesses’ or something?”
“Same as always,” Kita replied, pulling back to grin up at him.
Yiru chuckled again before turning his attention to Zora. The Nohoch Lord’s footsteps approached with a deliberate calm, so Zora stood completely still, letting the man size him up.
The Nohoch Lord spoke in the Nohoch tongue.
“And you, man in amber… must be him,” he said. “My brother sent word about you. Said you’re that infamous ‘Thousand Tongue’—the Warlord of the Northeast. Do you live up to your reputation, or will you look to my niece's servant for translation?”
Zora smirked faintly, matching his tongue. “For your information, I didn’t pick the name.”
Yiru raised an amused brow. “Well, out here, we don’t much care for the Capital’s labels,” he said, his tone lighter. “If my brother trusts you, that’s good enough for me.”
Behind Yiru, more people emerged from the factory—Ant Class workers in soot-streaked clothes, their chitin-armoured faces lit with curiosity and warmth. They called out to Kita, some clapping her on the shoulder or teasing her about her time in the Salaqa Region.
Zora hung back while Yiru smiled at Kita and Machi, letting the greetings unfold. The camaraderie reminded him of his own days at Amadeus Academy. He could almost hear the echoes of laughter and whispered conversations from late-night study sessions, the shared moments of triumph and defeat—fleeting memories, of course, but it left him feeling unexpectedly wistful.
He immediately felt like he wasn’t going to get shot by any of Yiru’s men.
“... Come inside,” Yiru said, turning around and gesturing for him to follow. “We have much to discuss.”
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