Far from the prison, near the lands of the East Sector, an odd group of four walked steadily eastward.
At the front was a young man, seemingly in his twenties, walking alongside a girl no older than seven.
Behind them, a short man with brown hair and black eyes trudged along beside a proud-looking dog, its head held high.
"Why do they call you Fa Lupus instead of, you know... just 'dog'?" Cynthia asked curiously.
Rocky gave her a sharp glare before sighing.
"We're part of the Canis family. Among us, there are several sub-families: the wolves—Lupus, the coyotes—Latrans, and the jackals—Aureus."
"...Wait, there's no 'dogs' in that lineup," Cynthia pointed out.
"Well, Lupus, Latrans, Aureus—they're not too friendly with humans. But we are. That made our branch an outcast. So they called us 'Fa Lupus'—Fallen Lupus."
"Oh... I'm sorry," Cynthia muttered, looking down.
"Don't be. I don't consider them family anyway. And don't call me Fa Lupus or dog. I have a name."
He turned to her.
"Rocky."
"Nice to meet you, Rocky. I'm Cynthia." She gave a small bow.
"And why is that your name?" he asked, blunt as ever.
"...Pardon?"
"I mean, you're a boy, right? Why's your name Cynthia?"
Cynthia gave a sheepish grin. "Let's just say... reincarnation gone wrong. Long story, very embarrassing."
"Suit yourself. Still—how much farther? We've been walking for hours. It's already dawn," Rocky grumbled.
"We're almost at the border, I think," Cynthia replied.
"Hmm. Maybe I should put you on the scouting team. With those two up there, there's more bickering than actual scouting," Rocky muttered, glancing toward the pair walking ahead.
Mirus scanned the area carefully, but the occasional side-glance showed clear irritation.
"You seem to be in a bad mood," Carla said plainly.
"...And you know why," Mirus replied, eyes fixed forward.
Carla sighed. "What do you have against immortals, anyway? Sure, they're not exactly polite—usually fat, extremely irritating, and they hate us for no reason—"
"Sounds like you have something against them," Mirus interrupted.
Carla went quiet, then asked, "Still, that doesn't explain it. Did you meet any immortals outside?"
"No."
"Then why?"
Mirus sighed.
"My master—Young Master's brother—is... unique. He has quirks, says a lot of odd things we laugh about… But there's one thing he said that I never forgot."
Carla tilted her head, listening.
"The only time he ever sounded serious was when he said: 'If you ever come across a man who claims to be immortal... run.'"
Carla's eyes widened.
"And now we're not only meeting an immortal… we're going to a city full of them," Mirus muttered.
Carla didn't reply.
Not because of what he'd said—but because she saw it first. A couple of meters ahead, structures half-buried in sand came into view.
Mirus stopped beside her.
"We're here," Carla said, just as Rocky and Cynthia caught up.
"Looks like something big stomped all over this place," Rocky muttered, surveying the destruction.
Before them lay countless ruined buildings—collapsed, half-buried under dunes. And the sand itself... it seemed to be slowly pulling inward, toward something.
"Let's go," Mirus said, taking the lead.
Carla nodded and took the rear. Rocky and Cynthia flanked the sides, watching their surroundings.
They made their way through a narrow path between the ruins. The sand tugged at their boots, as if inviting them in.
But the "welcome" only made them more tense.
"What happened here...?" Mirus murmured, eyes sweeping across the devastation.
He glanced at Cynthia, who only shrugged and pointed to Carla at the back.
Carla's face was somber.
"Over 80 years ago, the East Sector was a coalition of beast hunters, mobs, and thieves."
"The hunters hunted beasts from the North, sold meat and fur to the city—a rough but honest living."
"But the mobs and thieves turned to illegal trade. The sector got branded as a den of criminals."
"Still, they were loyal to each other. That made them powerful."
Then she paused.
"One day, news broke—something had been stolen from the royal palace. Investigators and the military came down hard. They raided homes. Beat people. Tortured innocents. But no one confessed."
"They couldn't find the stolen item. And if they kept using torture without results, the South and West sectors would turn on them."
"So they withdrew. The people went back to their lives."
Everyone listened in silence, still moving through the broken ruins.
Carla's voice turned grim.
"Then, a year later… the Deep swallowed the North."
"And the people."
She stopped.
"All five thousand people in the East Sector… were dead, overnight."
Their eyes widened.
"Just like that?" Rocky whispered.
"Later, it was confirmed. They had stolen something from the royal palace."
"What was stolen?" Mirus asked quietly.
Carla hesitated. Then, in a voice just above a whisper:
"A painting. They stole a painting."
Cynthia's eyes widened.
"Wait. Aren't painters and paintings outlawed?"
Mirus and Rocky exchanged glances.
'Painting? Outlawed?'
Carla nodded.
"Yes. But not before 80 years ago. After that incident..."
"Guys," Rocky's voice cut in.
Everyone froze.
"I smell blood," he said, claws sharpening into metal.
Nerves tensed. They scanned the area.
"There." Mirus pointed ahead, his face pale.
They all turned—and froze.
Two massive carcasses were being dragged through the sand. The beasts were lion-sized. Blood leaked from deep gashes in their bodies, but the horror wasn't just the wounds.
Their eyes were gone. Gouged out. Crude slashes all around the sockets.
And dragging them... was a small man.
Silent.
Moving slowly through the sand.
Carla and Mirus shifted into stance—hands turned to scythes.
Cynthia readied her needles.
Rocky bared his fangs, muscles tense.
The man turned.
And their blood turned cold.
His eyes were scarred—gouged out long ago, like the beasts.
But before anyone could move—
Shrrrgh. Shrrrgh. Shrrrgh.
The sound of more dragging.
One by one, they emerged from the ruins.
Men. Women. Children.
Each dragging a carcass—goats, horses, even elephant-sized beasts. All with the same eye wounds.
All dragging forward.
Slowly. Silently.
Their footsteps matched the pull of the sand.
And they passed by.
Not attacking. Not seeing.
As if the party didn't even exist.
The four stood frozen—surrounded by a slow, eyeless procession.
And the sand… kept pulling forward.
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