"Who are you, Mister Asheron?"
Keiran's voice was steady, his eyes locked onto the man across from him.
For a moment—silence.
Then—
A shift in the air. The soft murmuring of voices, the sound of footsteps against the stone floor.
Keiran's head turned instinctively.
Down the staircase, nearly all ten children descended, their chatter light, carrying an eerie contrast to the deadened world around them. They weren't loud, but they weren't silent either. Some murmured tired complaints, others whispered about the food, their movements mechanical yet oddly normal.
Each child approached the counter, took their tray without hesitation, then settled at the worn wooden tables.
Keiran's gaze lingered on them for a few moments before he turned back—
Only to freeze.
Asheron was gone.
Keiran's eyes flicked downward. The only trace of him was the empty tray left behind.
His brows furrowed. Had he left while Keiran was distracted?
His eyes darted to the entrance, then to the staircase—nothing.
"…No fair."
He leaned back against his chair, arms draped over the sides, staring at the dim ceiling.
"He said he'd answer any question, but he just vanished…"
A soft exhale left him. He wasn't even surprised.
Still, it felt like cheating.
With nothing left to do, he finished his meal in silence.
Keiran climbed the stairs, each step echoing faintly in the narrow hallway.
Room 2.
The key turned in the lock with a dull click.
Inside, the air felt heavier than before.
A dim glow from the single candle near the entrance flickered, casting elongated shadows along the walls. The faint scent of damp stone and aged wood lingered, mixing with something stale—something old.
The bed was shoved against the farthest wall, its thin mattress barely an imitation of comfort. The sheets were dull, rough against his fingertips, the pillow lumpy and misshapen.
A single wooden chair and table stood nearby—empty, unwelcoming.
To the right, the bathroom door was slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of cracked tiles and a rusted pipe. The mirror inside was fractured, distorting reflections into something wrong.
Keiran stood in the center of the room, exhaling slowly.
It wasn't much.
But it was somewhere to sleep.
He sat on the bed, sinking slightly into the stiff mattress. His gaze drifted toward the small, dust-covered paintings on the wall—faded landscapes, their colors worn down by time.
Why were they there? Who had placed them?
It didn't matter.
Keiran leaned back. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on him, heavy and absolute.
His thoughts blurred together.
The factory. The town. Asheron.
His eyelids grew heavy.
Without realizing it, he slipped into unconsciousness.
A distant metallic chime.
Keiran's eyes opened slowly.
He blinked. The candle had long since burned out. The air was still.
For a moment, he didn't move.
He simply listened.
Nothing.
Just silence.
His gaze flicked toward the clock on the wall.
8:00 AM.
His shift wouldn't start until 10.
Keiran sat up, rubbing his temple.
This place still felt unnatural. It wasn't fear—it wasn't even unease. It was something deeper, something more fundamental.
Like the town itself was wrong.
He exhaled, pushing the thought aside.
He had time to kill.
Then he entered the bathroom it was small and damp.
The cracked mirror distorted his reflection, splitting his face into fragmented pieces.
Keiran ignored it.
The cold water stung against his skin, but he let it run over him, washing away the stale remnants of sleep.
His clothes, however—
He grimaced as he pulled them back on.
The same ones from yesterday.
The fabric clung uncomfortably, still reeking of factory oil. He hated it.
But he had no choice.
Downstairs, the air was thick with the faint scent of bread and something vaguely edible.
Keiran ate quickly. He wasn't savoring the taste—just consuming for the sake of function.
Once done, he made his way back up.
Room 1.
Standing before the door, he raised a hand and knocked.
No response.
Another knock.
Silence.
Was he at the factory?
Keiran's brow furrowed slightly before he turned away.
Stepping outside, the morning air was brisk, carrying the lingering chill of night.
The town was awakening.
Shops were beginning to open, their wooden signs creaking faintly in the breeze. Merchants entered through the main gate, their carts laden with goods. Some came to sell, others to buy, all moving with mechanical efficiency.
Keiran watched them.
It was subtle at first.
But the longer he observed—
The more unsettling it became.
There was no emotion.
People moved, but their faces were blank. Their eyes were void.
Transactions were done swiftly, without haggling, without hesitation. Words were exchanged, but they were hollow—devoid of life.
Keiran felt something cold settle in his stomach.
What was this place?
His feet carried him forward, deeper into the town.
A large shop stood at the end of the street. Its sign was simple, faded.
Keiran stepped inside.
The interior was dimly lit, rows of clothing lined neatly in sections.
But as he walked through the aisles, something became clear.
Half the store was dedicated to worker uniforms.
Cheap, identical garments—meant for function, nothing else.
And the other half—
His eyes landed on a price tag.
500 cresis.
His breath hitched slightly.
Five months' salary.
For a single piece of clothing.
Keiran's gaze swept over the luxurious fabrics—the stark contrast between wealth and survival laid bare before him.
The realization settled like a stone in his gut.
There was no in-between.
Either you were a worker.
Or you were something else entirely.
Keiran exhaled quietly.
There was nothing here for him.
He stepped back onto the street, hands in his pockets.
For a moment, he simply stood there, surrounded by people who felt less than human.
And for the first time—
A thought crept into his mind.
This place isn't real.
Or if it was—
It was something worse.
Keiran kept walking.
The more he observed, the more unsettling the town became.
There were no walls. No barriers. No fences.
Nothing to protect this place from whatever lay beyond.
Only a single entrance gate.
Yet, what was the point?
The land stretched endlessly in all directions—vast, open, and unguarded. If someone wanted to enter, they wouldn't need to use the gate. They could simply walk in from anywhere.
And still, there was almost no security.
Keiran's eyes flicked around, searching. No patrolling guards. No watchtowers. No armed men enforcing order.
Just people moving like ghosts—working, trading, surviving.
It didn't make sense.
What was Armon thinking? What was he planning?
His mind swirled with questions, but there were no answers.
Keiran exhaled sharply and turned back. He had seen enough.
Yet, his thoughts drifted back to the white-haired boy.
That shot should have killed him instantly. And yet—
Keiran shook his head. That boy wasn't ordinary.
But neither am I.
He pushed the thought aside and made his way back to the apartment.
Inside his room, Keiran sat on the bed, his hands resting on his lap.
His gaze drifted toward the clock. 9:30 AM.
His shift was at 10.
With a sigh, he stood, shaking off his thoughts. It didn't matter. He had to move.
Some time later, Keiran arrived at the entrance gate.
A guard stood in front of him, expression unreadable.
"Series?"
Keiran met his gaze, replying evenly, "Series 16."
The guard said nothing. He simply stepped aside and motioned toward a waiting vehicle.
It wasn't something Keiran had seen before—a long, armored transport, dull gray in color, its body reinforced with steel plating. The wheels were thick, built for rough terrain, and the engine hummed with a low mechanical growl.
Keiran climbed in.
He sat near the corner, keeping his distance from the others. The interior was cramped—metal benches lining both sides, a faint scent of rust in the air.
He waited.
Minutes passed before the rest of the children arrived, one by one.
They entered the vehicle, chatting amongst themselves—a sharp contrast to Keiran's silence.
Keiran rested his arm on the side, gazing out the small, dust-coated window.
And what he saw sent a strange feeling crawling up his spine.
Nothing.
An endless stretch of barren sand.
No buildings in the distance. No landmarks. No signs of life beyond the town.
The landscape was a wasteland.
There were only three roads.
The one leading to the factory.
Another entering the factory's premises.
And one more—stretching further, leading to some unknown exit.
That was it.
Keiran stared, something uneasy settling in his gut.
Then—
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Vast land of nothingness, huh?"
Keiran turned to his right.
A girl sat across from him.
Her black hair fell messily over her shoulders, strands framing her face. But her eyes— they were an odd shade, dark but carrying a hint of blue that caught the dim light of the vehicle.
Her clothes were the same as his—worn, ragged, stained by the factory.
She tilted her head slightly. "Sorry, did I startle you?"
Keiran simply shook his head.
She gave a small nod. "Name's Selara. You can call me Sel if you want."
Keiran hesitated, then answered, "Keiran."
Selara leaned forward slightly. "So, were you brought here in that truck too? The one that entered the town?"
Keiran nodded. "Weren't you?"
Selara smiled faintly. "Yeah."
A brief pause.
Then, she asked—
"Do you want to get out of here?"
Keiran blinked.
His answer was immediate. "Of course. Why wouldn't anyone?"
Selara's gaze sharpened slightly. "The feeling's mutual."
She parted her lips as if to say more—
But suddenly, the vehicle lurched to a stop.
The back doors swung open, revealing the factory's looming entrance.
A guard's voice rang out. "Move. Inside."
Without another word, Keiran and Selara stepped out, following the others.
But Keiran couldn't shake the feeling that this conversation wasn't over.
As time passed, more batches of children began arriving, each one ushered inside under the silent watch of the guards.
Once again, they were led back to the same massive storage room.
Without a word, they resumed work—lifting, carrying, stacking. The weight of the crates pressed into their arms, the dull ache of repetition settling in.
But this time, Keiran's curiosity got the better of him.
He glanced around, making sure no guards were paying close attention. Then, as he bent down to lift a crate, he carefully cracked it open—just enough to see inside.
His stomach tensed.
Inside, glinting under the dim light, were weapons.
Swords. Shields. Axes. Mining gear.
A slow unease crawled up his spine.
Why was the factory transporting so many weapons?
Keiran's fingers shifted, carefully pushing aside the contents to check another box. More weapons.
But this time—not swords.
Revolvers. Pistols.
Guns.
Keiran's breath caught. These weren't crude, outdated weapons. They were precise. Deadly. Modern.
Something didn't add up.
Where were all these going? Why was a factory, supposedly for production, hiding an armory?
His fingers hesitated, then he moved to another crate, prying it open just enough to see inside.
Something different.
Not weapons. Not tools.
Cards.
Keiran frowned. Playing cards?
Of all things—why were they stacked here, buried among weapons and machinery?
His eyes scanned them, flipping through. They seemed ordinary, but then—
One card caught his attention.
A joker.
Its painted grin was eerie, but what unsettled him more were the burned-in symbols at the bottom.
Instead of the usual "J," there was a fire emblem.
Keiran's fingers tightened. This symbol… it looked familiar.
Then it hit him.
The card he found in the coat he stole.
What did it mean? Who were these cards connected to?
He didn't have time to question it. He had to keep moving.
Time passed. The weight of labor settled into their limbs.
Finally—2 PM.
Keiran exhaled. The shift was over.
Or at least, it should have been.
But instead of being shoved back outside, the workers remained.
Keiran's brow furrowed. Something was wrong.
Then—footsteps.
A familiar voice rang out, smooth and laced with amusement.
"Ah, sorry boys. Almost forgot to mention—"
Keiran turned his head as Kennedy walked past, glancing at them with a smirk.
"You'll be working two shifts instead of one. Have fun."
Keiran sighed. Of course.
Without complaint, he returned to work. But his mind churned.
This wasn't normal. Something was going on.
Then—an idea struck him.
He stepped out of the line and approached one of the guards.
"Sir, may I take a bathroom break?"
The guard barely spared him a glance. "Two minutes."
Keiran nodded, turning toward the lower levels—but his real goal wasn't the bathroom.
He needed to know more.
Moving quickly, he descended the stairs, weaving through the shadows. The factory was massive, and somewhere below—there had to be answers.
Then, behind a heavy curtain, he saw it.
An exit leading behind the factory.
Keiran's heart pounded. He carefully slipped through, keeping to the edges.
Then—footsteps.
He froze.
Quickly, he ducked behind a stack of crates, pressing himself into the shadows.
And then he saw him.
Armon.
He was alone—except for his maid, standing silently beside him, holding an umbrella over his head as always.
In his hands, he clutched a letter.
Armon's expression was unreadable, but there was tension in his grip, a sharpness in his posture.
Something was wrong. He looked… angry.
Keiran watched as Armon strode toward the exit, his maid following soundlessly behind.
Then—a vehicle.
Expensive. Sleek. Built for someone of high status.
Keiran barely had time to process before Armon stepped inside, and the vehicle drove away.
Where was he going? And why did he seem so furious?
But Keiran didn't have time to find out.
His two minutes were up.
He turned and ran back upstairs.
As he reached the workstation, a worker glanced at him, unimpressed. "You're late."
Keiran exhaled. "Sorry. Got lost."
The worker scoffed. "Don't let it happen again."
Hours passed. The second shift finally ended.
Exhausted, Keiran and the others trudged toward the exit.
The transport vehicle was waiting.
Keiran climbed inside, taking his usual spot.
This time, Selara sat next to him again.
For a moment, silence stretched between them—until Keiran finally spoke.
"You were about to say something earlier, weren't you?"
Selara's expression shifted. Then, she nodded.
"Yeah. I was."
She hesitated, then leaned in slightly, her voice low.
"I know a way out."
Keiran's eyes sharpened.
"But it won't be easy."
A flicker of something stirred in his chest.
For the first time since arriving here, he felt something close to hope.
But how real was it?
And at what cost?