The rescue teams moved through the ruined heart of Serica like ants navigating a crushed hive. They were highly coordinated, moving in grids across the fused glass and pulverized stone, hauling away warped brass beams and pulling the living from the dead.
At the center of the organized chaos stood Gerrick Tor.
Sutra’s colossal Royal Guard was not wearing his signature, hulking armor. Stripped of the terrifying Eldritch plating, Tor was simply a massive, very muscular man with short, practical blonde hair. His plain linen shirt was already stained with soot and sweat, stretching tightly across his broad chest as he personally hauled a two-ton slab of masonry off a collapsed cellar. He dispatched orders with a booming, authoritative voice, pointing medics toward the faintest signs of life and directing his soldiers to stabilize the collapsing structures. He was a pillar of absolute stability in the middle of the panic, giving direct orders to save whoever can still be saved.
But a few hundred yards away, sitting in the gray snow, Noah was entirely disconnected from the rescue effort.
For Noah, the world had been submerged underwater. The frantic shouts of the medics, the grinding of heavy rubble, and the weeping of survivors didn't reach him as words or distinct sounds. They were just a low, distorted, low-frequency hum. It sounded exactly like the heavy, rhythmic thudding of his own failing heartbeat echoing inside his skull. His vision was tunneled, the edges bleeding into black. He just sat there, his torn, blistered fingers resting uselessly on his knees, hot blood dripping from his split forehead.
A shadow fell over him, blocking out the red sky.
The muffled, underwater hum of the world was abruptly shattered by a heavy hand gripping his shoulder. The physical contact sent a jolt through his nervous system, violently yanking him back into reality. The sound of the burning city rushed into his ears all at once.
Noah blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on the massive figure standing over him. It was Gerrick Tor.
"Stop trying to break your own skull, kid," Tor said, his deep voice easily cutting through the noise of the surrounding disaster. His eyes swept over Noah’s bloody face and the weeping blisters on his hands. "None of this is your fault. Look around you. This was a force of nature. It was inevitable. And frankly, a weakling like you couldn't have done a damn thing to stop it anyway."
Noah stared at Tor, eyes hollow and dead.
"Then I should have died," Noah whispered, his voice cracking, barely audible over the crackling fires. "I shouldn't be the one who survives. Every single time... everyone around me dies, and I get to walk away. Why? I should be dead in the dirt with them."
Tor’s expression darkened, his calm expression vanished, replaced by a serious look. He grabbed the front of Noah’s ruined shirt and hoisted him halfway off the ground, forcing the boy to look him in the eye.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Tor growled, genuinely pissed. "Do you actually think the world revolves around you? You think a Primal wiping a city block off the map is about you?"
Noah flinched, his breath hitching as Tor’s sheer presence pressed down on his lungs.
"You have an inflated sense of your own tragedy, kid," Tor spat. "You are just a piece in a giant, moving puzzle. An insignificant, microscopic piece. You don't get to look at the entire board burning and claim the blame for it. You didn't cause this, and you couldn't stop it." Tor released his grip, letting Noah drop roughly back onto his knees. "But if you hate this feeling so much... if you want the dying to stop, then you need to get strong. Because as long as you stay a weakling crying in the dirt, you don't get to have your way. You don't get to decide who lives or dies, and none of this will ever be resolved."
Noah knelt in the ash.
Noah slowly looked up, wiping a mixture of blood and ash from his eyes. "How?" his voice trembled, but a faint, desperate spark had finally returned to it. "How do I get strong like you say?"
Tor stopped. He looked down at the boy, his stern expression softening just a fraction, evaluating the genuine desperation in Noah’s eyes.
"You will never become strong in your current state," Tor said bluntly. "You are being coddled. You are being protected by Queen Selena. Maybe her training will sharpen your technique and make you a slightly better fighter than you are today, but as long as you are not confronted with absolute, unfiltered danger, you will never truly improve."
Tor gestured to the smoking ruins around them. "Strong beings are never born from soft environments and royal protection. They are born from harsh, agonizing experiences. You have to walk into the fire without a safety net if you want to forge a weapon."
Noah stared at the towering man. The words resonated deep within him.
"Remember this, Noah, for you cursed humans, the charts of strength are never linear. You don't ascend by simply climbing stairs. You ascend through leaps of understanding. A single moment of pushing yourself past the brink of death, can trigger exponential growth. One defining moment in the dark is worth vastly more than months of safe, repetitive training."
Tor turned his back, looking out over the rescue teams still digging through the rubble.
"Get out of here if you are of no help, we will continue the rescue, if you plan on sitting there then just get out of the way."
He then walked away, leaving Noah by himself.
As Tor walked away, disappearing into the smoke, the focus of the day slowly shifted from immediate panic to a methodical rescue operation. The efforts continued relentlessly over the following days as the red sky faded back into normal.
Everyone capable of helping joined the recovery. Jin moved through the rubble with mechanical precision. He repeatedly knelt to press the brass frame of his Tremor-Scribe against the rubble, listening through the acoustic horn for the faint struggles of buried bodies. Whenever he located a survivor, he raised his right arm and fired a high-tensile silk cable from a modified, wrist-mounted gauntlet. The hooked line anchored into the debris, and with the press of a trigger, a motorized spool engaged, dragging away heavy debris to save whoever was under.
By the fourth midnight, the fires had died down to embers. Thousands had perished in the blast, but tens of thousands had survived. Temporary medical tents were set up in long rows along the edges of the four-hundred-meter crater to treat the wounded.
Despite the devastation, Sutra’s administration did not collapse. Under the glare of portable floodlights, groups of the city’s engineers and architects gathered around makeshift tables. Many were covered in ash and wearing fresh bandages, but they were already at work. They unrolled singed blueprints and began measuring the colossal glass trench Ignis had left behind. Rather than abandoning the destroyed sector, they were actively discussing schematics, planning how to rebuild it.
Ignis had broken their home, but the people of Sutra were already planning its reconstruction.
47 days later, The Entrance gates of the City of gold
The wind brushed past Adam’s face, tossing his dark hair. He stood at the crest of a massive, sweeping ridge, his hands resting on his hips. The sheer exhaustion of the past month and a half was carved deeply into his posture, but as he looked down into the sprawling valley below, his eyes were bright, filled with an undeniable, boyish wonder.
"You know," Adam said, a wide grin breaking across his face. "When they called it the City of Gold, I honestly thought it was just a metaphor. But it might be at least four to five times bigger than the City of light, talk about a trading behemoth."
Beside him, Zeren stepped up to the edge of the ridge. The boy was practically swimming in an oversized travel cloak Adam had modified for him weeks ago. Zeren looked exhausted, his cheeks smudged with trail dust, but his jaw dropped as he took in the view. Behind them, the giant moth let out a low, tired trill, resting.
"Whoa..." Zeren whispered, his small hands gripping the edge of Adam’s sleeve. "It's so shiny."
Adam chuckled, reaching down to ruffle the boy’s hair. "Yes... it’s amazing."
Below them, the legendary City of Gold lived up to its name. It wasn't just a city; it was a sprawling, multi-tiered fortress carved directly into the sun-drenched canyon walls. Massive, gilded domes and towering spires caught the midday light. Aqueducts carrying crystal-clear water wove through the golden architecture. It was a beacon of wealth and power.
Adam let out a long, contented sigh. It had been forty-seven grueling days since the ambush in the forest and the fight with the Mouthless man. Forty-seven days of navigating unknown terrain, rationing supplies, and protecting the kid. But looking at Zeren now, no longer the terrified, crying child from the destroyed village, but a brave kid who had learned to set up camp and ride a giant moth, Adam felt a profound, warm sense of pride.
"We finally made it, kiddo,".
Zeren looked up at him, a huge, bright smile on his dirty face. "We can finally meet your friend; I wonder if we can find her?"
"I have no doubt we will" Adam laughed, clapping a hand gently on Zeren's back. " Come on. Let's go see what's waiting for us."
With the wind at their backs and the golden gates shining below, they both began their descent.
With a heavy thud, the giant moth landed, kicking up a small cloud of dry earth as its massive legs settled onto the ground.
“Shouldn’t we have her come with us inside the city?” Zeren asked, looking up at the towering insect with a mix of awe and concern. “What if she gets lost out here?”
Zeren had recently taken to calling the creature Faracha, it felt odd to him to keep referring to their companion as just ‘the giant moth’ every time he spoke about her.
“Don’t worry, Faracha is a good girl,” Adam said, patting the creature. “I’m sure she’ll wait here even if it takes us weeks. Eldritch beasts don’t need ordinary food to survive, so there is nothing to worry about.”
“But what if they find her? Wouldn’t she be in danger?”
“Not at all,” Adam reassured him. “Her mind is under the orders of the Primal of Silk. If she feels something is truly dangerous, she’ll just fly away and come back when it's safer. Besides, did you forget what I taught you, Zeren?”
“No,” Zeren said, straightening his posture. “Normal humans are no match for immortal Eldritch beasts. The only thing that can hurt her is a cursed human.”
“Alright. And how rare are they?” Adam pushed further, testing the boy to ensure he remembered his lessons.
“Very rare,” Zeren confirmed with a proud smile.
Adam chuckled. He took the small sack containing the last of their food and water, slung it over his shoulder, and signaled for them to move. He had intentionally chosen a landing spot far from the city to decrease the likelihood of anyone interacting with the beast. It meant they had to walk for half an hour on foot, but it was the safest option.
Contrary to what Adam expected, the main gates weren't just busy; they were overflowing. The City of Gold lived up to its reputation as a major economic center. The main road was choked with dozens of massive transport wagons, hauled by sturdy draft horses and loaded high with crates of textiles, spices, and heavy goods. Hundreds of people, merchants, mercenaries, and travelers, swarmed the entrance. The air was thick with the sound of haggling, the clatter of wooden wheels on cobblestone, and the shouting of guards directing the relentless flow of trade entering and leaving the fortress.
As Adam and Zeren walked alongside a particularly large merchant rig, a heavy wooden cart pulled by two massive workhorses, an older man in his sixties suddenly called out to them.