The horse's hooves clattered against the cobblestone streets as Eden and Vassiel rode into Lexria. From the distance, the city stretched out like a white ocean, endless rows of uniform houses, streets straight and precise, every corner aligned with mathematical certainty. The only exception was the skyscraper at the city's center, gleaming faintly with crystals that refracted light into a soft, multi-hued glow, standing like a silent overseer over the sprawl below.
Eden tightened his grip on the reins, scanning the city as if reading a map in motion. Every passerby seemed to move with purpose, their steps measured, their heads held at the exact angle to maintain posture. No laughter, no shouting, no idle chatter. Even the children ran straight lines, dodging one another with uncanny coordination.
"They move… like machines," Eden muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. "Not a single mistake."
Vassiel glanced at him, calm as ever. "It's their way."
Eden let out a low whistle, watching a laborer on the far side of the street lift a stone block too heavy for one man. His arms flexed, muscles straining unnaturally, the block held aloft as if aided by something invisible. When he set it in place, his strength seemed to drain, shoulders slumping in relief. The man's breath came in shallow bursts as he straightened, eyes darting around to ensure no one had noticed.
Eden's jaw tightened. "And yet… no one falters publicly."
Vassiel's eyes followed the same laborer. "The cost is hidden. Those who fail are removed quietly."
A market stall loomed ahead, the scent of fresh produce cutting through the faint tang of rain-soaked streets. A woman arranged apples and oranges with perfect alignment, each fruit rolling back into place if disturbed by a customer. Eden raised an eyebrow as she subtly adjusted a tray that had shifted out of line. Not a word passed between her and the passerby; he barely noticed the correction.
Vassiel's hand rested lightly on the reins. "They are allowed to excel," he said. "Within limits."
Eden shook his head slightly. The citizens were extraordinary, yet constrained.
Further down the street, a man knelt beside a wounded dog. His hands pressed against its sides, muttering low, precise words. The animal's whimpering slowed, its breathing eased. When the man stood, sweat dripped down his temple, and he swayed for just a moment before regaining composure. Eden's eyes lingered. Skill with cost. Invisible cost.
Near the courthouse, a cluster of clerks exited together, walking in perfect synchrony. One stumbled slightly, and the others adjusted their pace instinctively, without a glance or word. Eden's eyes followed the movement, his mind ticking. Even coordination is enforced… but voluntary?
Down an alleyway, a street performer struck a tuning fork, the low hum vibrating through the cobblestones. Pedestrians slowed, their steps softening, their shoulders lowering as if some invisible influence had passed over them. The effect lasted only seconds, but Eden noticed the faint, reflexive smiles that flickered across their faces before vanishing.
"They're trained," Eden said quietly. "But it's more than that."
Vassiel's gaze never left the cityscape.
Eden frowned, scanning the uniformity of the streets. The white houses were simple, functional, unadorned. School buildings and hospitals stood indistinguishable from the surrounding dwellings, yet the courtrooms loomed slightly taller, their facades stricter, their entrances framed by columns that suggested authority.
"And the skyscraper," Eden murmured, eyes drawn to the crystalline tower at the center. "It's… almost alive."
"Observation deck for the noble houses," Vassiel explained, voice low. "They live above the city, separate from those who serve it. The glow is ornamental, but it marks them."
As they rode along the streets, the people subtly adjusted their movements. Some stepped aside, eyes lowering, giving space to the horse and riders. Most did not stop, but a few slowed mid-stride, resuming only once Eden and Vassiel had passed. Eden noticed that none of the citizens paid attention to Vassiel. Only he drew the careful, cautious gaze of the city.
Eden's lips curled slightly in a wry smirk. Even without a word, they know.
Vassiel followed his glance. "Control recognizes freedom," he said softly. "And fears it."
The two continued deeper into the city, streets narrowing, the white monotony giving way to small shops and alleys. Children in uniform marched toward the schools, their books stacked neatly, their steps synchronized. Servants carried trays with meticulous care, elbows tucked, hands steady, eyes forward.
At a small square, they paused to watch a craftsman at work. His hands moved faster than the eye could follow, stitching leather with exacting precision. Scraps of material fell in neat alignment, forming geometric patterns almost imperceptible unless one looked closely. When he paused, sweat dripping down his face, he straightened and adjusted his posture, as if resetting himself for the next task.
"That's… unnatural," Eden whispered.
Vassiel remained calm. "It is tolerated because it serves function."
A low murmur of wind stirred, brushing over the cobblestones. Eden sensed a tension beneath the precision, a subtle restraint in the city's rhythm, as if every inhabitant moved under invisible strings.
They reached a narrow street lined with taverns and small eateries. The scents of roasting meat and freshly baked bread drifted toward them, warm against the cold austerity of the streets. They dismounted near a pub, the wooden sign swaying lightly above the door.
As they entered, the room fell into near-perfect silence. Patrons froze mid-bite, mid-sip, utensils poised but unmoving. Conversations cut off as eyes flicked toward the newcomers. Eden's presence drew attention, though Vassiel passed almost unnoticed.
The bartender, a tall man with a face worn by years but precise in his movements, wiped a mug before approaching. Eden leaned on the counter, glancing at him.
"Do you know anything about this?" Eden asked, nodding subtly toward a faint symbol carved into the edge of the bar: a circle containing a diamond, flanked by small horn-like protrusions.
The bartender's hands stilled. He leaned in slightly, voice lowered to a whisper. "You shouldn't ask about that here… not aloud. Some things are better left buried."
Vassiel stepped closer. "We need information."
The bartender hesitated, glancing around the room as if the walls themselves were listening. Finally, he whispered, "Be careful what you pursue. There are those who enforce the rules. They do not tolerate curiosity."
Eden nodded. "I understand."
Outside, the faint sound of boots echoed against the cobblestones. A squad of black-uniformed officers emerged, their insignia a hand holding a scale tilted slightly off-balance, noticeable only to those paying attention. Their presence carried weight; the citizens parted silently, heads bowed.
Eden stiffened. Something about their posture, the unnatural authority in their aura, set his instincts on edge.
One officer's eyes locked on Eden. "Step aside," he ordered, his voice calm and cold.
The officer signaled, and the others moved forward. Eden's jaw tightened. He had broken a rule he hadn't known existed—his horse had ridden too freely along a street meant only for pedestrians, and his gaze had lingered too long.
Vassiel's hand rested lightly on Eden's shoulder. "It appears you have drawn attention."
Eden raised his hands slightly, not in resistance but acknowledgment. Around them, the tavern patrons remained frozen, eyes flicking nervously toward the scene outside.
As the officers approached, Eden glanced at Vassiel. The faint trace of amusement had left his expression.
"Do not escalate this," Vassiel murmured.
The lead officer stopped a few paces away, gaze moving over Eden with clinical precision.
"You are disrupting regulated movement. Maintain compliance."
Eden inclined his head slightly.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then the officer stepped aside. The formation shifted, opening a narrow path forward.
Only then did Eden mount his horse again, guiding it carefully as they moved toward the center of the city.
The citizens resumed their rhythm almost instantly, as if the interruption had been nothing more than a misplaced breath.
Eden watched how seamlessly they returned to pattern.
Somewhere beneath the streets, he suspected, even the smallest deviation was recorded.