Almost an hour had passed.
Juna and I were still waiting for Director Ochid. To pass the time, she explained how the Messenger system worked—how requests were sorted by sector and grade, how couriers could choose which deliveries to take. There were perks too. Free food during town events, especially on weekends. Trinkets, apparently. I didn't fully understand that part, but I assumed it kept the whole thing running.
And I really needed to pee.
I stood and told Juna I'd be back. She nodded, still mid-explanation. I asked a passing worker where the bathroom was—same hallway, five steps, then left.
As I walked, my thoughts drifted back to the same question that always followed me.
Why am I here?
I wasn't watching where I was going.
"—Ow!"
We collided.
Paper exploded into the air. Towers of it scattered across the floor as I landed hard on my back. The other person fell too.
"Sorry," I said quickly. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
"No, it's my fault," he replied. "I wasn't paying attention either."
I looked up.
A boy. Maybe three years younger than Juna—though I suddenly realized I didn't even know how old she was. Too young to be working here, that was certain. His arms and legs were bruised, his face sunken with dark circles. His voice didn't quite match his appearance—almost human, but not entirely.
For someone so young, he looked exhausted.
"Let me help you," I said.
"What—no, you don't have to," he replied quickly.
He sounded guilty. Like he wasn't used to being helped.
I wasn't pitying him. At least, I told myself I wasn't. Maybe I was just justifying it.
We gathered the papers together, stacking them carefully.
"I'm really sorry," he said again.
"You really don't have to apologize," I replied. "So… where are you delivering all of this?"
"The reception office."
"That's a lot for one person."
"There's a backlog of unfinished orders. My coworkers asked me to handle it."
I met his eyes. There was something there—stress, maybe fear. The kind that comes from being worked harder than you should be.
"Well," I said, "you could ask me for a favor sometime."
"What? I couldn't do that. I don't even know you."
"The name's Albus. I'm a new recruit. Looks like we're coworkers starting today."
"Oh—uh. I'm An."
The name caught me off guard. Soft. Almost delicate.
"So how long have you been a Messenger, An?"
"I think… about a month."
Think?Did he not remember the exact day?
"If you ever need help," I said, handing him the last stack, "you can ask me. I won't be here forever, but still."
"Th-thank you."
"I'll see you around."
"Oh—yeah. See you, Albus."
We went our separate ways. He headed toward the reception office. I finally went to the bathroom.
On the way back, I noticed how the hub was designed—endless hallways branching into rooms. Efficient, I supposed. Especially for people carrying stacks of paper all day.
When I returned, Juna was there with Director Ochid.
"Good," the Director said. "Now that you're here, I'll give you a tour of the town. You'll need to remember the layout if you're going to handle deliveries."
"The mayor isn't available yet," Juna added.
The Director glanced at her, amused by something unspoken.
"All right," he said, turning to me. "Ready, Albus?"
"Yes, sir." i replied
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As we stepped outside, the first thing I noticed was movement.
Contraptions—machines that had no right to function—turned and clicked with quiet efficiency. Wooden frames, chain loops rotating endlessly, an elevator-like platform traveling up and down rails bolted into nothing. It all worked. Too well.
The town was alive with motion.
And yet, beneath it all, something watched.
Not directly. Not clearly. Just enough to be felt—like a shadow you only notice once it's already behind you.
"Let's visit the marketplace first!" Juna said, her voice bright.
The Director agreed. So did I.
We headed south from the base. Vendors lined the path, voices overlapping, selling trinkets and relics scavenged from before the Rupture. My eyes wandered from stall to stall.
"These trinkets contain valuable items and lost knowledge from the old world," the Director said, noticing my curiosity. "If you're a philosopher-manufacturer, you might find them useful. But most of what's sold here is fraudulent. I wouldn't recommend buying."
I nodded, half-listening.
Something else had caught my attention.
A pond.
Clear water. Living fish.
Life… in the Void?
I stepped closer without realizing it.
"Hey—wait up," Juna called.
I crouched near the water.
Then I saw them properly.
The fish weren't right.
Their bodies were translucent, organs faintly visible beneath skin stretched too thin. Eyes blackened, unfocused—half-dead, half-moving, like something undecided about existence.
A creeping sensation climbed my spine.
Juna reached my side and glanced into the pond.
"Oh. Yeah," she said casually. "They're not very nice to look at before they're cooked."
"Are fish… supposed to look like that?" I asked.
"For as far as we know? No. Old scripture says they used to glisten—white, lively."
"I see…"
I didn't.
Not really.
Something about them disturbed me deeply. I knew they weren't meant to be like this. Worse—I felt like I remembered that fact, though I had no memory to place it in.
We stepped away.
The marketplace stretched on—clothes, armor, tools, sacks of unfamiliar materials. Juna lingered by the clothing stalls, trying things on. The Director examined bags with practiced interest.
As I wandered, my gaze landed on structures that didn't belong.
Jagged formations rose from the ground—crystalline, colorless, gleaming like gems without hue.
"What are those?" I asked.
"Abnormalities," the Director replied. "Structures that emerge without warning. No cause. No pattern."
"But why?"
"One of the Abyss' many unanswered questions. You'll find at least one in every sector below Grade One."
I frowned.
Was there a relationship between depth… and distortion?
Then I saw it.
A statue.
Veiled. Haloed. Crumbling.
It stood in silence, stone eroded by time, yet refusing to fall. I stared without realizing I'd stopped walking.
"That's a worship idol," Juna said.
"Worship?"
"Before the Abyss, people worshipped gods and otherworldly beings. It was believed they granted miracles and prosperity. Their opposites—daemons—were blamed for calamity and ruin."
"It looks like it's about to collapse."
"Most idols last around eight hundred years."
Eight hundred.
And still standing.
"Since there's an idol," the Director added, "there should be a church nearby."
We headed west.
Greenery crept along a carved path leading to a cathedral, its doors open as if expecting us. Inside, a woman greeted us—draped in white, face hidden beneath a veil.
"Blessed be those who enter the palace," she said softly. "How may I assist you?"
"Nothing urgent," the Director replied. "The boy wishes to learn."
He ruffled my hair. I stiffened.
"I see," the woman said, kneeling. "Knowledge is given to those who seek it—though never in full."
She turned toward me.
"What knowledge do you desire, young one?"
"What is this place?" I asked. "What are you? And the statue?"
The interior was vast. Rows of long benches. Stained glass lining the walls, glowing with iridescent color despite the absence of any visible light source. Each panel told a fragment of a story I couldn't understand—but felt I should.
"This is the Palace of the Past," she said. "Forgotten by time, but not by belief. The tale of the statue predates the Rupture."
That word again.
"It tells of a boy who could not die," she continued. "He suffered eternally until the gods took an eye and waged war upon the residue where evil festered. The conflict shattered the world—toppling mankind and its creations."
"Is… that the Rupture?"
Her pause was long.
"No," she said quietly. "That was merely the prelude."
Cold flooded my chest.
What if it happens again—
IT WON'T.
Pain exploded behind my eyes.
"Agh—!"
"Albus!" the Director grabbed my shoulder. "Are you alright?"
"My head—just hurts…"
"Albus," Juna said softly. "Your nose…"
I touched it. Blood.
The woman rose and pressed a cloth into my hand.
"Curious," she murmured.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," she replied. "You wonder why I dress this way, don't you?"
"…Yes."
"I am a nun. Our faith is inherited—passed through generations since the old families merged. We worship the One True. It sees all. It created the old world. And it will provide once more."
Her voice carried something strained. Hope—or desperation.
It felt like she was waiting for something that would never return.
My head throbbed again.
"I… need air."
Outside, the pain eased, though my nose still bled.
"That was… something," the Director said. "A cold drink might help. Old scriptures claim nosebleeds come from excess heat. Not sure how accurate that is."
"Yeah," I said. "That'd be good."
As we walked back toward the market, I glanced behind me.
The nun stood in the doorway.
Staring.
No expression. No movement.
My blood ran cold.
Maybe I didn't need that drink after all.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Director bought me a drink from one of the market stalls.
It came sealed in a thin plastic bag with a straw poking out the top. The liquid inside glowed a soft yellow, misting the surface with cold. It looked… unnatural. Like it shouldn't be consumed.
I hesitated.
Part of me was certain it would taste wrong. Bitter. Metallic. Something my body would reject the moment it touched my tongue.
Then I glanced at Juna.
She was staring at it—not with fear, but quiet anticipation, like she was trying not to ask.
The Director noticed.
He handed the drink to me, then turned back toward the stall. "I'll get another one."
That expression alone pushed me forward.
I took a careful sip.
—Oh.
Sweet and sour blended perfectly, chilled to the point where it numbed the back of my throat. Whatever it was, it settled easily, like my body had been waiting for it.
"I'm glad you like it," the Director said, returning and handing Juna her own.
Now I understood why old texts believed cold drinks cured nosebleeds.
I was halfway through when shouting tore through the marketplace.
Wood cracked. A stall toppled.
People flinched—but no one stepped forward.
We turned.
Men dressed in black coats stood in a loose circle. On the ground, a boy was curled over his scattered coins.
My breath caught.
That hair.
That build.
"…An."
Juna's hand grabbed my sleeve instantly.
"Don't," she whispered. Her voice shook. "Please."
The Director's face darkened.
"They're from the underlayer," he said quietly. "Black market enforcers. If your worth falls short, they collect what's left of you. They give you "protection"."
"What kind of system is that?" I muttered.
"It's vile," he replied. "And those who challenge it disappear."
I felt it again.
That presence.
Not visible. Not clear. Just there, pressing against the edges of my awareness, watching without eyes.
"And yet," I said slowly, "someone I know is being beaten."
I wasn't justifying myself.
I wasn't being noble.
I simply hated what I was seeing.
"Director Ochid," I said, turning to him. "Is there another way to pay for protection?"
He studied me for a moment.
"…There is."
Hope flickered in my chest. Juna looked at me, already afraid.
"Organizations like the Messengers provide temporary protection to their members," he continued. "About a year. After that, you pay with money."
"I know what you're thinking," Juna said quickly. "Please don't—"
"It's fine," I replied. "I'm not staying long anyway."
I gently pulled my hand from hers.
"I need answers. Sorry, Juna."
I walked forward.
The men hadn't noticed me until I tapped one on the back.
"Who the hell—" one started.
"Me."
They turned, grinning.
"Well, what do we have here?" one sneered. "A hero? You gonna save the frogs, prince?"
I clenched my fists—but kept them still.
"His protection expired," I said. "I'll give him half of mine. I've got over a year left."
Silence.
Then laughter.
Harsh. Mocking.
On the ground, An lifted his head weakly. Our eyes met. He looked terrified—confused—on the verge of tears.
I smiled at him.
The men grabbed my collar.
"Didn't your mother teach you lying is bad—"
"My boss is right there," I said calmly. "Ask him."
They hesitated.
Behind me, I felt it before I saw it—the weight of Ochid's presence. Arms crossed. Expression dark. A man who could end this if he chose.
They released me.
For now.
One spat on my face as they walked away.
"Hope you don't regret it, kid."
I wiped my cheek and rushed to An.
"Are you hurt? Come on, let me help you—"
He slapped my hand away.
"Why did you do that?" he shouted. "Don't you value yourself? You should've just left me!"
The words cut deeper than the beating ever could.
"I could have," I said quietly. "But I chose not to."
"But why?!"
"Because I'm human," I replied. "And I hate watching people get crushed."
I don't truly feel human but even so...
I helped him up carefully. Juna and the Director hurried over, guiding him to a bench. Juna cleaned his wounds while the Director handed him a drink.
"I'm sorry," An murmured. "I'm always a problem."
"We're a small community," Juna said softly. "We help each other."
"…Even though you all watched," An muttered.
That one stung.
"I worked as a messenger for my siblings," he said suddenly. "My mother was taken first—debt. My siblings were sick. I needed money. The Director and Mayor gave me a chance."
The pieces clicked into place.
"I worked nonstop. Medicine. Food. Hope." His voice cracked. "Then one night… they were gone."
The air grew heavy.
"My coworkers push me around sometimes," he added. "But I didn't care. I look strange. Sound strange. As long as I could help them."
Please don't—
"But now…" His voice dropped. "Dying doesn't seem so—"
I grabbed his hand.
Hard.
"Don't," I said. "Your family would be devastated if they heard that."
Silence.
Then his shoulders shook.
He cried—openly, uncontrollably—like something finally broke free. We stayed with him until it passed.
When he finally looked up, his smile was small—but real.
Then a voice echoed through the market.
"The mayor of barriel has returned!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We walked for several minutes toward the mayor's city hall.
Somewhere along the way, An ended up beside us—not exactly a new companion, more like someone who had always been there, only now noticed. Juna and the Director already knew him well enough; coworkers, shared routes, overlapping shifts. Still, seeing An smile, even faintly, eased something tight in my chest.
I didn't realize I'd been worried about him until that moment.
"Hey, Juna," I asked, breaking the quiet. "When did you meet An?"
She blinked, surprised by the question."Hmm… maybe six months ago? We'd cross paths during deliveries, sometimes work together."
"Oh. I see."
I nodded, but the answer didn't quite sit right.
Six months didn't explain the tiredness in his eyes. Or the way his body moved like it had learned to endure more than it should.
"He actually started about a year and a month ago," the Director said casually.
Both An and I stopped walking.
"…What?" An muttered.
He frowned, as if trying to reach for a memory that wasn't there. I felt that strange sensation again—the one that told me something important had slipped through the cracks.
Before I could ask more, another thought surfaced.
"Juna," I said, quieter this time. "What about you? Won't you… you know. Be shaken down too?"
She sighed, the sound half-amused, half-tired, and patted my back as if I were the younger one.
"You really worry about everyone, huh?"
She smiled, but then looked away.
"That kind of kindness is exactly what makes me worry about you," she muttered—too softly, almost like she hadn't meant for me to hear it.
"I've got connections," she added more brightly. "Upper grades. People who owe mefavors."
"That sounds…" I hesitated. "Dangerous."
"It is," she admitted. "And I hate using it."
An chuckled quietly, and for a brief moment, so did I.
Then—
thud.
I walked straight into someone.
"Watch it, kid."
I stumbled back, confused. The man hadn't moved an inch.
"Uh—sorry. Why are you blocking the way to the mayor's office?"
He scoffed. "You blind?"
I looked past him.
And froze.
The line stretched farther than I could see—coiling through the hall like a waiting serpent. People stood silently, clutching documents, tokens, bags. Some looked hopeful. Others looked resigned.
"…We're going to be here a while," I muttered.
Hours passed.
When we were finally allowed inside, the city hall greeted us with polished stone, towering columns, and an uncomfortable sense of importance. It felt less like an office and more like a manor.
A woman at reception smiled politely."Good evening. How may I assist you?"
"Let me handle this," Director Ochid said, stepping forward.
As they spoke, a man in a luxurious suit passed by. His eyes flicked toward me—sharp, assessing—then moved on.
Something about that glance made my skin crawl.
"Albus."
I snapped back to the Director's voice.
"You'll be meeting the mayor alone. Left hallway, then the intersection. Don't worry—he's…"A pause."…nice. I guess."
You guess?
I nodded anyway and walked off.
Behind me, a lantern flickered.
For just a second, it glowed purple.
"Did that lamp just—" someone at reception murmured.
"It's still blue," another replied. "Must be your imagination."
The hallway was lined with paintings—landscapes, abstract forms, things that almost looked familiar but weren't. I stopped in front of the final door.
It opened before I could knock.
"Albus. Welcome to my office."
My blood ran cold.
It was the same man from earlier.
"You know my name," I said carefully.
He smiled. One eye twitched.
"Of course. I'm the mayor."
He gestured grandly. "Nio. Mayor of Barriel."
I swallowed.
"I'm here to apply as a messenger."
"In my humble town?" he said lightly. "How ambitious."
I really wouldn't call it humble after what i just witnessed.
He produced a contract with practiced ease.
"Sign here."
"Before that," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "The underlayer."
The room seemed to darken.
"Be careful of your worth, boy," Nio said quietly. "Lest others decide it for you."
I didn't understand.
But I felt the warning in my bones.
I signed.
"Splendid," he said. "Welcome aboard."
As I turned to leave, I asked one last question—one I already knew wouldn't be answered.
"Can't you do something about the underlayer?"
Silence.
I left without looking back.
When I returned, Juna smiled in relief. An looked brighter. The Director clapped me on the shoulder.
"Welcome to the messengers."
Juna tilted her head. "Do you want to Celebrate?"
I hesitated.
The Abyss hadn't given me answers. Only deeper questions. But for now....
"…Yeah," I said at last. "Let's celebrate."
Somewhere above us, a lantern flickered.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Somewhere within a room drowned in paper and ink, a man stood unmoving.
Moments had passed since the boy's question—a question he could not answer.
His eye twitched.
Once.Then again.
The color within it shifted, bleeding through hues that did not belong—violet, pale gold, something darker still—until at last it settled into blue.
Not the blue of the sky.Not the blue of water.
A symbol surfaced within the iris, etched in a language that had no name. For a moment, it existed apart from him—foreign, watching—before slowly dissolving, blending back into the eye as though it had never been there at all.
The man exhaled.
"Sometimes," he murmured to the empty room,"a light must walk beside the dark…to keep everything in order."
The papers rustled.
The room fell silent once more.
CHAPTER 3 END...