"I guess… I carry a lot," Azriel said, forcing a shaky laugh. "You mentioned mental stability affects magic, right? Maybe it's all the baggage I've got."
He smiled nervously, hoping that would be enough of an answer. It was vague, but it made sense—and more importantly, it was true.
Lysara studied him for a second longer, then nodded gently.
"I get it. I won't pry if it's something heavy… but Azriel—your potential is overwhelming. If you ever want to learn the basics, I'd be happy to teach you."
He glanced at her, a little surprised by her sincerity.
"I'll take you up on that," he said after a moment. "Let's make Neuraleth more than a destination. It might not be a safe haven, but we'll still need each other to make it through."
Lysara smiled at that—soft, genuine—and gave a small nod. Beside them, Gio looked between the two, squinting slightly.
"Hey, Lysara—how old are you?" he asked out of nowhere.
"Oh! Nineteen. Why?" she tilted her head, curious.
Gio slowly turned to Azriel, gave him a ridiculous thumbs up, and smirked like he knew something no one else did. Azriel blinked, immediately regretting every life decision that had led to this moment.
He sighed.
"Whatever's going on in your head—just know it's either stupid… or really stupid."
After the meal, they continued their journey through the dense underbrush of Evascera. Lysara raised a wind barrier around them as they moved—nothing aggressive, just enough pressure in the air to deter wild creatures. Even the most feral beasts knew better than to test raw magic.
Hours passed beneath the towering trees, their boots crunching over roots and leaves. Every so often, Lysara would lift into the air, scanning the forest canopy to make sure they were on track.
By the time they reached the edge of the forest, the sun was already dipping below the horizon, streaking the sky in dying golds and reds. In the distance, past the final tree line, loomed the misty border of Neuraleth—an unfamiliar, waiting silence on the other side.
They stopped just short of it.
"Let's camp here," Gio said, his tone firm. "The nights in Neuraleth aren't friendly. We'll go in when we've got the light."
They nodded in agreement, and began setting up camp under the darkening trees, the wind barrier pulsing faintly around them. The forest was quiet—but not in a peaceful way. It felt like something just beyond the veil was holding its breath.
And they would meet it in the morning.
When dawn broke, so did the final stretch of their journey. The border to Neuraleth lay ahead, but it was not what they had hoped. The checkpoint was in ruins—makeshift barricades of splintered wood and rusting metal, with only a handful of weary enforcers limping through their routines.
Or so they thought.
As they drew closer, Azriel's eyes caught the distinct insignias stitched into black-and-silver uniforms. Not just enforcers—these were direct underlings of the Grace of Senses. Each Grace had only ten of them. Ten handpicked monsters. And by some cruel twist of fate, two were stationed here, overseeing the shattered border like vultures perched on broken stone.
There was no turning back. Evascera was under constant surveillance now. Neuraleth, for all its dangers, was their best shot at slipping through unnoticed.
They walked forward, trying to look like any other weary travelers. But the moment Azriel crossed an invisible threshold, both underlings turned sharply, hands already on their weapons. The air tensed like a drawn bowstring.
One of them barked out, voice cutting through the silence like a blade:
"WHO ARE YOU? STATE YOUR NAME!"
Their tone was ruthless, trained, dangerous.
Because to serve a Grace, even as an underling, meant you were a force the world had already learned to fear.
"Seems like The Grace of Sense actually set up her nation– just our luck" Gio whispered, but Azriel had an Idea if they're underlings maybe he can manipulate them, so he did.
Azriel stepped forward, face blank, voice awkwardly formal—like he was reading lines off a crumpled script.
"I am... Hilton. Yes. Hilton. Next in line to become the Grace of Life," he said, gesturing vaguely to himself like he wasn't entirely sure what he was. "As you can clearly see, I'm here under her orders to... uh... inspectNeuraleth. On her behalf. She's, um, very busy. Looking for... a special power. So, naturally, she sent me. To check if the Grace of Senses' land is, you know... okay."
He ended with a tight-lipped nod, standing ramrod straight like a malfunctioning automaton.
Gio and Lysara slowly turned to look at him, their expressions blank with disbelief.
"The fuck was that?" they both muttered under their breath, in perfect unison.
But somehow—by the divine mercy of sheer stupidity—the two guards didn't even blink.
"OH! OF COURSE! THAT EXPLAINS THE IMMENSE PRESENCE!" one bellowed, straightening up like a loyal hound.
"HE MUST BE THE MONSTER UNDER HER COMMAND!"
The other nodded, eyes wide with reverence and zero brain activity.
"RIGHT! AND NO RANDOM ENFORCER WOULD KNOW WHAT THE GRACES ARE HUNTING!"
It was painfully obvious now: the Grace of Senses hadn't taught them anything useful. Not even common sense.
"RIGHT THIS WAY, SIR!" they chimed together, bowing low as they opened the gate.
Azriel gave a stiff little nod and walked through. Gio and Lysara followed slowly, both staring at him like he'd grown a second head.
"I can't believe that worked," Gio whispered.
"I can't believe you said your name was Hilton," Lysara added.
Azriel just shrugged.
"It sounded official enough."
They slipped into Neuraleth—somehow—and the gates shut behind them with a groan.
Neuraleth was worse up close. Buildings sagged under their own weight, cracked stone and rusted pipes lining the streets like dying veins. The air was heavy with the stench of rust, unwashed bodies, and old smoke. People moved like shadows—thin, hollow-eyed, wrapped in whatever fabric hadn't rotted through. Famine clung to the place like a fog, but it was still better than being caught by a Grace.
Azriel wrinkled his nose at the tattered enforcer uniform and turned to Gio.
"Let's find a clothing shop. These reek like dead dogs and dried blood."
Gio nodded with a grunt, clearly in agreement.
Lysara followed behind, still quiet. She kept her head low beneath the hood of her threadbare robe. Azriel reached into the inner pocket of his uniform and pulled out five gleaming gold coins. He raised an eyebrow.
"Enforcers carry a decent stash. Check yours."
Gio did the same, pulling out five coins of his own and whistling low.
"Guess one perk of robbing the bastards blind."
Lysara glanced down, then looked away, her hands tucked into her sleeves. She said nothing, but Azriel caught the look.
"Here," he said simply, offering her two coins.
"And don't argue. We can't have you walking around like a fugitive nun."
Gio chuckled and handed her one too. Lysara blinked, stunned for a moment, then gave a small smile.
They found a shop—or what was left of one. The windows were cracked, a faded sign barely clinging to the frame overhead. Inside, moth-eaten coats hung from bent racks, but it was better than what they had. They each picked something plain and unassuming. Azriel chose a dark wool coat and worn trousers. Gio found a patched-up duster and a decent pair of boots. Lysara took her time, choosing a gray cloak and layered dress with some dignity to it, her white robe finally folded away.
When they stepped outside again, the sun had started dipping behind the soot-stained skyline.
Neuraleth wasn't a place to live. It was a place to survive.
"We lay low," Azriel said, scanning the street. "No powers. No attention. We blend in."
"Any ideas where to start?" Gio asked.
Azriel exhaled through his nose.
"We find a roof first. Work second. And pray this city's Grace is as inattentive as the rumors say."
Lysara looked at the coin in her palm, then up at the two of them.
"And if she isn't?"
Azriel smirked faintly, his eyes scanning the horizon where smokestacks bled into the clouds.
"Then we do what we've always done."
"Run?" Gio offered.
"Survive." Azriel replied. "Thenrun."
And so, with new clothes, empty stomachs, and a city full of secrets, they stepped deeper into Neuraleth—another game of survival, and maybe, if they were lucky, a place to plan the impossible.