After passing through a narrow stone path—too thin for a horde of enemies to advance side by side, yet wide enough to allow transportation—we finally reached our destination.
Eucaryth.
The capital that, for a hundred and fifty years, had endured as the greatest human kingdom still standing. The caravan veered around a massive rock blocking the alternative routes. What revealed itself before us was… intimidating.
There was still solid ground beneath our feet. That alone was surprising—considering what came next.
A colossal abyss opened ahead, larger than any structure I had ever seen. Its depths were swallowed by absolute darkness that remained impenetrable even under daylight. For a moment, it reminded me of the sea of shadows I had sunk into the day before.
Stretching over the void stood an equally monstrous bridge, its length impossible to measure. It was the only viable route into the capital. Built from pure steel, metallic cables, and materials I couldn't even identify from a distance, the structure groaned endlessly—a deep, oppressive sound that blended with the echo rising from the abyss below. Every step reinforced the feeling that it should not exist.
Along the cables, on suspended platforms, and even across the bridge itself, thousands of workers wearing intimidating masks reinforced the construction. Smaller ones welded cables one after another, hammered metal, replaced bolts. The larger ones carried long steel beams across the bridge as if the weight meant nothing.
An eternal work—one that never seemed finished. No matter how much care was poured into it, it would never feel sufficient.
When the officials' carriage advanced onto the bridge, it became clear why this place was so revered—not for its beauty, but for its power.
The traffic was constant. Reinforced vehicles carried military-grade weapons wrapped in thick cloth and sealed crates marked with symbols I didn't recognize. Barrels of supplies moved alongside dismantled structures, steel parts, gears, and ammunition. Everything looked far too heavy to exist above an abyss—and yet, it moved forward regardless.
And among it all—people.
Individuals setting up improvised stalls along the widest sections of the bridge, trading goods, repairing equipment, negotiating in hushed voices. Nothing there felt permanent. Nothing felt clean. Grease stained hands, clothes, faces. The smell of iron, oil, and sweat lingered in the cold air, seeping into everything.
And yet… they stayed. There was an absurd crowd, each person driven by a different purpose. Some arrived to stay. Others merely passed through. I saw symbols of other kingdoms stamped onto cloaks and armor; important figures escorted by soldiers far too alert to be at ease. Messengers, merchants, refugees, mercenaries.
All coexisting within the same narrow space, suspended above nothingness.
I saw some of the slaves tremble—each for different reasons. Maybe the place itself was too unreal to comprehend. Or maybe being suspended over a bottomless abyss was more terrifying than anything else.
"Incredible," Harlan said. "I used to sell swords and basic armaments that were shipped straight here. But I've never seen the capital up close. What about you, kid?"
He didn't seem to care about my past. Maybe Eren—who was calming the others—had more influence than I thought.
"Same."
When I looked at my wrists—previously mutilated by the sudden cold—I noticed they were healing.
"Even the climate seems different. I don't feel cold anymore," I said, rotating my arms, examining the scars.
"You're not the only one who noticed. I believe we're far beyond the reach of the beast that caused all that chaos. If not, it must have retreated far enough for the local atmosphere to stabilize."
It made sense. Still, I couldn't shake the thought that even the strongest beasts were intimidated by this place.
As we crossed the bridge, a colossal black wall blocked our path. It wasn't just tall—it imposed silence, weight, submission. Anyone would feel like an insect standing before it.
"Hm…? Oh… right. Understood." One of the guards murmured to the commander. Both stood on a platform attached to the massive gate's mechanism.
"Workers, we have a very special cargo today. Open the gate!" the commander ordered.
Immediately, smaller workers activated a mechanism of titanic gears and thick steel cables. Slowly, the pure steel gate began to open. The movement shook the ground, groaning like a beast awakening before us.
It wasn't a defense against monsters.
It was a warning to the world.
No one liked being reduced to "special cargo." Still, everyone knew that—for them—it wasn't a lie.
So we moved forward, as the sound of the city grew clearer.
***
Eucaryth was too large for us.
We saw no palaces, markets or nothing that deserved to be called a capital.
We were diverted.
The caravan left the main roads and followed increasingly narrow stone corridors, where the city's noise faded—smothered by thick walls and permanent shadows. The smell of iron gave way to something heavier. Dampness. Mold. Old blood.
A containment complex.
We would stay there until our summons. That was all we were told. All that remained was to wait—wait for whatever awaited us beyond the bars.
The place was filthy, repurposed countless times before. Elevated platforms allowed guards to watch from above, never at ground level. The walls were dark, etched with symbols I didn't recognize—marks that felt ancient, carved not as decoration, but as warning.
Fear of the unknown spread among the slaves. And as much as I hated to admit it, it left me on edge too. Fear.
Eren noticed before anyone else.
He moved naturally among the people, resting a hand on one shoulder, exchanging a few words with another. No speeches. No hollow promises. Just presence. Someone standing firm in the middle of chaos.
"Breathe."
"Look at me, not them."
"We're still alive."
The others followed instinctively. Harlan helped a man trembling too hard to stand. Mira kept two women close, speaking softly. Even Tolen and Brask—usually silent—positioned themselves to block the guards' direct view of the weakest.
Eren never lowered his head.
His gaze challenged anyone watching, as if to say that even down here, there was something they couldn't take.
For a moment… it worked.
Then the announcement came.
"Separation by groups!"
The voice echoed cold and metallic. One guard pointed. Another confirmed. Chains were pulled. People were dragged in opposite directions before they even understood why.
After a few minutes, Eren walked over and sat beside me.
"Yeah. I guess this is where it ends," he murmured, just between us. "But… it's not the end of everything. So wipe that dumb look off your face."
Even now, he smiled. Not happily—steadily.
"I'll try."
He looked surprised by my answer. Then he laughed.
"So… we'll meet again after this. All of us."
Footsteps approached.
"This isn't a promise," he said. "Promises can be broken. This is a pact."
I swallowed.
"Why all this?" I asked—the same question as always. The only one I knew. "You met me yesterday."
Eren looked away for a moment. His smile faded, but didn't disappear.
"…Why not?"
There was something there. A past he wouldn't put into words. Something I didn't need to hear to understand.
"Do you remember the conversation we had about your name?" he asked. "The day we met."
"I remember. It was yesterday."
He looked at me a second longer than normal. As if he'd forgotten that. "Yeah," he chuckled. "Feels longer to me."
We sat in silence—the kind that isn't awkward, just heavy.
"You asked if having a name changes anything," he continued. "If it's just a sound people use to call you… or if it actually means something."
I nodded.
"And you said that for someone like you, names only exist to be written on posters," he said. "Dead or alive."
There was no accusation. No pity. Just fact.
"But that's not what stuck with me," he continued. "It was when you asked if someone without a name can be remembered."
I looked at the floor.
"I'm not good with this stuff," he said. "Never was. But names aren't about who you are. They're about what others choose to carry of you."
He took a breath.
"A name doesn't absolve you. Doesn't save you. Doesn't erase what you did. But it keeps you from disappearing too easily."
The footsteps were closer now. Eren noticed.
"I was going to tell you later," he said, standing up. "With more time. But it seems the world isn't very patient."
He turned his back—then stopped. "You don't have to decide now," he said, without looking at me. "Not today. Not here."
The guard called again.
"Group one. Now."
Eren turned back, raised his fist toward me.
"When you decide… make sure it's because you chose to." He smirked. "Not because someone told you to."
For the first time in my life, there was no order, no rule, no survival instinct involved. Only choice.
Slowly, I raised my fist and met his.
"This is a pact," I said, standing up.
"Of course it is," he replied.
"Slave number eighteen! If you take any longer, it'll be worse for you!" the impatient guard barked.
And then, we separated. No hugs, ceremony... Just silence.
But one thing I knew.
That was enough.
The feeling was mutual.