The sun had finally risen above the horizon.
And with its ascent, the city of Loughton stirred to life.
As a subordinate city under the dominion of the Hall of Machina, Loughton was a place of mechanical marvels and convenient luxuries. Its residents, whether they realized it or not, were among the luckier folk on the continent.
All-night streetlights lit the roads with precision. Autonomous service machines maintained order with tireless efficiency. Even in the darkest hours, the city offered shelter, light, and comfort to its people. As long as nothing extraordinary happened, the cities governed by the Hall of Machina consistently ranked among the highest in the continent's so-called "Happiness Index."
Now that the city had fully awakened, Ino stood up from his spot, dusted off his coat, and picked up the small leather suitcase at his side. Without haste, he began walking across the street.
The movement was casual, almost too casual. And yet, for those watching from the shadows, it was enough to send a chill down their spines.
Hidden in the dark corners of nearby buildings were Nord the Guardian, Celia the Mechanist, and several Nightwatchers. They had been monitoring the strange traveler since his arrival. At first, they assumed he was just passing through. But it became increasingly clear that he had no intention of leaving. And worse, when the sun rose and bathed the city in golden light, the man didn't even flinch.
He merely squinted, ever so slightly, then carried on as if nothing had happened.
That small detail alone was enough to make Nord and Celia uneasy. No, not just uneasy, terrified. The kind of dread that wraps around your bones and whispers that you're not going to make it out of this one.
"I knew it... I should've studied something safer," Celia murmured. Her voice was flat, but it wasn't the calm of reason. It was the despair of someone who had just watched the last candle go out.
As a certified Mechanist, she had read plenty of legacy manuscripts. She knew exactly what kind of being they were facing.
Only two kinds of creatures could ignore the sun: those born under it, like ordinary humans... and those that stood equal to it.
Last night, the man had curled up beside a crumbling wall, using his suitcase as a pillow, and calmly drifted off to sleep. There were no shields, no protective domes, no wards - just a soft snore and the cold concrete beneath him. And nothing had dared disturb him.
If they hadn't been inside Loughton, Celia would've assumed her thoughts were under psychic attack. It felt... wrong. Like her understanding of the world had a crack running through it.
"Don't give up hope," said Nord gently. "Our call for aid has already been sent."
It was meant to be comforting, but it only made Celia feel worse. She knew the truth. She knew what that so-called aid really looked like.
Unlike the other churches on the continent, the Hall of Machina couldn't send avatars or divine projections. If they wanted to help, they had to open a full energy transmission gate and deploy a high-ranking mechanist.
But the Hall oversaw twelve major cities, 372 secondary cities, and countless minor settlements like Loughton. She had no illusions. No one was going to spend the coin, time, or energy to save a little place like this.
And yet, she couldn't say that out loud. Not just because of the listening drones hidden in the walls, but because this sliver of hope was the only thing holding her together.
Seeing the effect his words had, Nord gave a slow nod and turned to face the Nightwatchers behind him.
"Remember your duty."
His tone was calm, almost routine, but many of the Nightwatchers dropped their eyes. They knew what that kind of talk meant. You only got a farewell speech if the captain didn't expect to return.
Nord didn't wait for a reply. He simply turned and walked toward the opposite side of the street.
Meanwhile, Ino arrived at the entrance of a small inn.
It was the kind of establishment one might overlook. Nestled between two bustling streets, its outer walls were built of weathered stone, pocked with marks left by time and rain. The double doors were thick and made of iron, overlaid with faintly green bronze filigree. The designs twisted into elegant, unfamiliar patterns that hinted at foreign craftsmanship.
As he stepped inside, a wave of old smells hit him - wood polish, worn leather, and a faint trace of spice. It smelled like something straight out of the 18th century, the kind of scent that clings to inns that haven't changed their wallpaper in a hundred years.
The lobby was surprisingly empty. No guests lounged in the armchairs. No cheerful chatter filled the air. The only other person present was the innkeeper standing stiffly behind the counter. It all felt a little too quiet, a little too staged.
A black-market front, maybe? A secret society meeting point?
Ino didn't care either way. He wasn't planning to go back out to find another place. Times had changed. If this was a shady inn, so be it. He wasn't the kind of traveler to worry about that anymore.
Behind the counter, Nord was trying very hard not to panic. His inner senses were practically screaming. And yet, the stranger hadn't shown any aggression. In fact, if anything, this confirmed a growing suspicion.
Their guest wasn't the chaotic, city-burning sort of invader.
Not yet, anyway.
Ino approached the counter and offered a friendly smile.
"Good day! I'm a traveler from far away. Do you have any rooms available? And what's the cost?"
It was a perfectly polite question. And somehow, it nearly gave Nord a nervous breakdown.
This guy wasn't even pretending anymore.
In every city they knew, ninety-nine percent of the population never left the walls. Most people lived their whole lives without even seeing another town. Even high-tier individuals rarely traveled, since the world outside the cities was practically begging to eat you.
Nord stared at him for a long moment, trying not to show how unsteady he felt. Meanwhile, Ino raised an eyebrow.
Did I say something wrong?
"I promise, I'm not here to cause trouble," Ino added, sensing the tension. "I really do just want to rent a room."
But halfway through his sentence, he suddenly paused.
His eyes flicked upward.
Just now... there'd been a ripple in the air. Something subtle, like a whisper vanishing in wind. He couldn't quite place it, but for a brief instant, the mechanical clock on the wall - its second hand had stopped. Just for a blink. Then resumed ticking, as if nothing had happened.
Before Ino could comment, a new voice echoed from outside the inn.
"Looking for a room? The Hall of Machina welcomes you!"
The voice was pleasant. No, more than pleasant. It was flawless. Every syllable was tuned to the most agreeable frequencies in the human auditory range. It felt... designed. Too perfect.
Ino, intrigued, turned toward the doors. Behind him, Nord let out a shaky breath. Relief washed over his face. Help, at last.
Through the heavy doors stepped a woman.
And what a woman she was.
Silver-white hair cascaded down her back like liquid mercury. Her features were impossibly symmetrical, her posture regal, her movements elegant to the point of seeming rehearsed. She wore a deep violet and black dress that could've belonged in a royal court. Her hands were folded gently at her waist, as if she'd stepped right out of a fairytale.
A real princess.
Even Ino, who had seen his share of wonders, even the elves of Middle-Earth - had to admit this was beauty elevated to an absurd degree. Her eyes, her lashes, the curve of her arm, the delicate angle of her ankle... everything was precisely as it should be. Any more or any less would ruin it.
And that, more than anything, made her feel unreal.
He'd seen dolls in the valley. Animated ones, beautiful and lifelike. But never alive.
Still, Ino wasn't put off. He'd met stranger things in stranger stories. At least someone was speaking now. Compared to the stiff, wide-eyed innkeeper, this newcomer was a welcome change.
If everyone in Loughton acted like that innkeeper, Ino might've started packing his things.
Yes. Packing.
Now that he controlled the Valley, Ino could also control his own story.
He could leave whenever he wanted.
No more waiting for the tale to finish itself.
This time, he held the pen.