Caelen shut his eyes and started shouting.
He didn't know why Favia had driven the hoverbike off the cliff, but they were falling—fast.
His mind had gone blank. He couldn't even tell how long it had been. He didn't feel anything.
He just kept shouting.
"How much longer are you going to scream?" Favia asked.
Caelen froze. Something felt off. He cracked one eye open, then the other.
They weren't falling anymore. They were inside something—like a cave, maybe. A ledge or tunnel of packed earth wrapped around them in a wide circle.
Still shaken, Caelen jumped off the hoverbike and backed away, glancing around the space. Behind them was open air.
He stepped closer and looked out.
They were still above the ocean, but only about fifty meters up now. When he glanced up, he could just make out the ledge they'd launched from.
"Are we… under the cliff?" he asked.
"Yeah. Now get back on. We're not there yet."
Caelen hesitated. He didn't like the hoverbike anymore. But he didn't know where he was or how to get back, so he climbed on.
To his surprise, they kept going straight for another fifteen minutes at full speed.
The tunnel stayed more or less the same: earthen walls, forks every so often, but Favia never turned. She just pushed forward.
Then, finally, she started choosing side paths. After so many turns, Caelen lost his sense of direction entirely. If he had to leave now, he wouldn't even know where to start.
Another fifteen minutes passed. Then the tunnel ended.
"We're here," Favia said.
"Where's here?" Caelen asked, looking around. The tunnel had simply stopped at a wall of packed stone.
Favia smirked, dismounted, and raised her hand to the wall.
The Crest of Knowledge on her arm began to glow.
A deep rumble echoed through the tunnel as the wall began to shift, shaking like an earthquake. Then, with a grinding sound, it rolled aside.
Caelen's jaw dropped.
It wasn't just a cave. It was a cavern—a city carved into the earth.
Above, light poured down from somewhere far above. It wasn't sunlight. Whatever it was, it glowed softly, casting the entire space in a cool, blue-white hue.
The ceiling must have been hundreds of meters up.
Below, the city sprawled. There were buildings—huge ones. Not like the simple, one or two-story homes barbarians built for a single family.
These looked like each one could hold fifty.
And in the air, metal machines drifted silently, gliding like birds. Some resembled Favia's hoverbike, but others were massive.
The size of carriages. Bigger, even. Yet none of them made a sound.
That didn't mean the place was silent. Far from it. The city buzzed with life. Lights blinked. Voices echoed. Machines moved. The entire space pulsed like something alive.
Favia turned to Caelen with a wide grin, clearly enjoying the look on his face.
"Welcome to Elarith-17," she said.
"What? Elarith? Isn't that the magus nation?" Caelen blinked. "I don't get it."
"You will," Favia said, teasing. "If you don't get killed first. We're not exactly fond of barbarians here. So try to act a little more... magus."
She was probably mocking him. At least, he hoped she was.
How am I supposed to be more like a magus? he thought. He couldn't shrink himself. He couldn't hide the muscle built from years of training.
Still... just in case she wasn't joking, he did the only thing he could.
He pulled the cloth from his right hand and wrapped it around his left, covering the Crest of War.
***
After pressing something on the hoverbike, it began gliding forward on its own. Favia stepped off and motioned for Caelen to follow.
They descended a sloped, hill-like street that wound toward the heart of the city.
Now that he was up close, Caelen was struck again by the sheer size of everything.
The buildings towered above him like cliffs carved into perfect shapes, their surfaces gleaming in strange metals and glass.
The flying machines drifted in neat lines above, casting shadows on the road below. Everything here moved with quiet precision.
Even the statue of Great General Preill back home—a figure carved to honor one of the greatest barbarian warriors—wasn't as tall as the smallest structure here.
"Who's your architect?" Caelen asked, staring up at a building that looked like it could hold an entire village.
Favia snorted. "Stop asking stupid questions. It's not about architects."
His face flushed, but he didn't reply. He didn't have a comeback, and even if he did, he doubted she'd care.
Instead, he looked at the people. Thankfully, no one seemed to look at him, even with his muscular body.
They didn't look different anyway. Thanks to the "exchange" years ago, all the people in all five nations looked like each other.
Of course, that didn't include the change their crests brought, like the barbarians' height.
Thankfully, Caelen wasn't as tall as a normal barbarian, only a bit longer than the others here.
Apart from that, most of their physical features were the same as the barbarians in a random barbarian city.
They stopped in front of one of the smaller buildings—at least, smaller by this city's standards.
The lower floor looked like a shop, though the grimy windows made it hard to tell.
The glass was so caked with filth and grease-streaks that it looked like someone had wiped it with dirty rags instead of cleaning it.
Without hesitation, Favia pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Caelen followed.
The moment he entered, a sharp metallic tang hit his nose. The air inside was warm and thick with the scent of oil, dust, and burnt metal.
The lighting was dim, coming from flickering panels overhead that buzzed occasionally. Was this also technology?
Shelves were scattered around the narrow space, crammed with mismatched parts—metal plates, coils, wires, and half-disassembled cores from flying machines.
Of course, Caelen didn't know any of this. Just that some parts were clearly from hoverbikes.
Others looked larger, heavier, or melted around the edges, like they had exploded at some point.
To Caelen, it was fascinating. He had never seen so much technology packed into one place.
He didn't notice how cramped it was, or how the shelves leaned at odd angles, or how sticky the floor felt under his boots.
"Oras! I'm back!" Favia shouted. "Got someone here to see you!"
Though the shop's front wasn't small, more than half the space was swallowed by piles of parts.
The actual customer area was squeezed between narrow paths of scattered tools and sagging shelving.
Even behind the counter, there wasn't much room—just more clutter and a battered cash register.
Behind the counter, a pair of batwing doors swayed gently. Caelen could see movement beyond them.
The doors didn't reach all the way down or up, so it was easy to glimpse into the room behind.
A middle-aged man stepped into view.
He was shorter than Caelen expected, and a bit round around the middle—something Caelen wasn't used to seeing.
Barbarian people only gained weight in old age, and even then, only after decades of hard training.
How could someone so young already look like that?
Then the doors swung open, and he understood.
The man's right sleeve was empty—his arm ended just above the elbow.
The right hand, the hand that bore the Crest of Knowledge, wasn't there.
So that was why.