The gates of the Upper Middle Realm loomed high, carved from obsidian stone and warded by ancient seals. When they parted, Kairo and the others stepped into a world sharper and heavier than anything in the Trade Realm.
The air itself carried weight — mana flowing like unseen rivers, pressing against their skin. Towers stretched skyward, banners of countless houses snapping in the wind. The Eryndor crest, faded and nearly forgotten, now fluttered again among them.
Lady Eryndor's carriage rolled forward, her figure shrouded in shadow as the Hound marched beside it. Behind, the group of children walked, their faces pale but eyes wide in awe and fear.
---
Far above, in the council halls of another house, voices whispered.
"So… she brings strays in now?" A man in crimson robes sneered, leaning against the marble table. "Children from the gutters of the Trade Realm? Has the once-great Lady Eryndor fallen so far?"
Another, cloaked in deep violet, chuckled into his cup of wine.
"Perhaps she's desperate. You know her bloodline withers. No heirs left strong enough to carry her name."
A third, older and sharper, narrowed his eyes.
"Do not underestimate her. She may be mad, but she was never foolish. If she sees worth in these… strays… then perhaps they are not so ordinary."
---
Back at the gates, as the group entered, the stares of nobles and guards alike burned into them — contempt, curiosity, disdain.
Igron smirked, lifting his blade to rest across his shoulder.
"Heh… looks like we're already famous."
Kairo's crimson eyes shifted across the towering city, silent, measuring. He could feel it — whispers coiling through the air like knives drawn in secret.
The Upper Middle Realm had noticed them. And it would not forget.