They decided to cross the border through the hole in the wall. If they reached another empire, they'd finally be free from pursuit.
That was Ivan's plan — so they ran, following Mikayle, who alone knew the way.
Exhaustion caught up with them, and they came to a halt.
They exchanged weary glances, breaths ragged. Almost in unison,
Ivan spoke first.
"They said they captured him…I mean marco if those tribes are involved, they'll probably sell him. That's how it goes."
Mikayle's hands trembled; a memory of Marco's crooked grin flared and cooled into hard quiet. He let the rasp come out like a promise. "They made a mistake."
Ivan pressed his palm to the hollow where Marco's pendant used to be and spat the words out like a vow. "We will not abandon Marco to the hands of those demons.."
A hollow silence fell over them. They paced in circles, weighed down by despair, their thoughts collapsing under guilt and helplessness.
Yuhan, grinning despite the gloom, broke the silence.
"Hey, relax! We can just buy him back. Easy!"
He held up a small bag he'd taken from one of the corpses, shaking it lightly like a merchant showing off merchandise.
Mikayle and Ivan's eyes went wide. The way he said it—like he was talking about picking out furniture or slaves—made their stomachs twist.
"Wait—what do you mean buy him back?!" Mikayle hissed, stepping closer.
Yuhan's grin widened. "Oh, come on, don't act like I'm serious. I'm not selling humans… at least not yet."
Ivan groaned. "You're insane!"
"Maybe," Yuhan said, tone smoothing out, tossing the bag from hand to hand. "But think about it—if he's got a price, that's good news, right? Means he's still alive. And if he's alive… we get to save him. Simple math!"
He leaned closer, mock-serious. "Besides, I'd rather be buying him than being the ones on the market. That's my kinda deal."
Mikayle glared, but a reluctant smirk tugged at his lips. Even Ivan looked like he might laugh—if only Yuhan didn't keep wiggling that bag in their faces.
Mikayle and Ivan stared at the bag. Slowly, relief flickered across their faces. They laughed, almost disbelieving, and began to dance in the mud like children briefly freed from sorrow.
"But we need to move—fast. Before they catch up," Yuhan warned, snapping them back to urgency.
They ran again, and soon the colossal wall rose before them—forty-four meters high, stretching endlessly across the horizon. Mud and stone, built like a scar across the earth.
At its base was a small, nearly invisible hole—just as Mikayle had described.
Ivan and Yuhan froze. A hole through Heamon rock—stone mined from the Revrigan Mountains, said to be unbreakable—shouldn't exist.
Mikayle, unfazed, crawled through first and stood on the other side.
Yuhan and Ivan hesitated. For Ivan—born into a wealthy family who never challenged authority—crossing the border felt like treason. For Yuhan, it was a dream made real. He had read of other empires but never believed they truly existed beyond the Karvan Empire.
They had discovered so much today—buried their father figure, lost their brother, and now faced an unknown world.
Mikayle stretched out his right hand, palm open.
Yuhan and Ivan understood without words. One by one, they stacked their hands on his, lifting them high in unison.
"We'll save Marco," they said, voices steady, "at any cost."
Turning toward the unknown, Yuhan and Ivan saw the forest beyond. It wasn't entirely different—but soon its truth became clear.
At the wall's edge, pressed close as if the stone itself could shield them, they saw the dead forest—an endless expanse of lifeless oaks, skeletal branches clawing at the sky. The soil was black mud, carrying the stench of rot. No leaves moved. The air itself felt cursed, heavy with decay.
To step forward was to step into despair.
And yet, as Yuhan gazed into the abyss, a word escaped him, as automatic and stunned as when he'd first seen a grasshopper.
"...Damnation."
Behind them, the wall stood silent. Ahead, the dead forest waited. Between both worlds, three boys carried the promise of one they'd lost.