At last, the survivors thought they had found salvation.
The uniformed men and women stood in formation, their weapons glinting faintly in the lantern light. Their stern gazes swept over the battered crowd like wolves watching their next meal.
Alphael's chest eased just a fraction. His mind clung to the thought: "Were they the ones who made the light? Did they scare that oversized crow away?"
Before he could voice it, one of the figures stepped forward.
He was a burly man, shoulders broad beneath a heavy black coat. His thick beard and long white hair blended with the fur ushanka that crowned his head. A scar split the weathered lines of his face, and when he spoke, his voice rumbled deep and hoarse, weighted like a hammer blow.
"Have you all just arrived here?"
The survivors stiffened. Even his question felt dangerous.
The woman who had begged for help earlier forced herself to reply, her words trembling.
"Yes… yes, we just appeared in this place. Can you please help us?"
The man scratched at his beard with calloused fingers, then tilted his head. His eyes were as cold as the moonlight above them.
"So I can assume… all of you are human?"
The survivors exchanged uncertain glances. The word human sounded wrong in his mouth. But eventually, they nodded together.
Alphael pondered for a moment. "What else would we be?"
The burly man gave a sharp gesture. His soldiers moved without hesitation, fanning out and approaching the survivors.
Alphael blinked, dazed. "What—are they going to carry us home?" The words had just slipped out of his lips without thought.
He followed one soldier with his eyes. The man was masked in a thin layer of fabric covering his nose and mouth, dark hair falling over sharp and unreadable eyes. He stopped before a survivor kneeling in the grass — an older man clutching a twisted leg, pain etched into his face.
The injured man raised a hand, voice raw with relief. "Please… help me."
For a heartbeat, Alphael thought he was about to see a miracle take place.
But the soldier didn't reach out a hand.
But the front side of a boot.
The crack of bone and teeth rang through the clearing as the boot slammed into the man's jaw. Blood sprayed. The survivor crumpled sideways with a strangled scream.
Alphael's world staggered. The miracle shattered before his eyes. Once again, the familiar smell of blood permeated the air.
And it wasn't just one man. All around him, the soldiers descended on the survivors, dragging them down, striking, kicking, forcing them to the dirt. Screams rose again, weaving into the chorus of horror that refused to leave Alphael's ears.
"No—wait! Aren't they here to help us?"
His thought barely formed before the world inverted. A blow crashed into the side of his skull. His vision whited out, his cheek grinding against cold earth and a copper taste flooded his mouth.
"Argh! Damn it—!"
The burly man's voice cut through the chaos, iron and merciless:
"Round them up."
Ropes bit into wrists. One by one, the survivors were chained together, a single line of broken bodies. A soldier barked, and the march began.
Branches slapped their faces. Nettles scraped at ankles. With hands bound, there was no defense. Minutes dragged by until, at last, the group stumbled out of the forest.
An expanse opened before them. The plains nearby still carried that uncanny azure glow… but further ahead, the grass shifted. Emerald green. Familiar. Like home.
The survivors' legs buckled. They begged for rest. But their captors wouldn't allow them to, barking and struck them if they were to slow down for even a single moment.
As they marched, Alphael's weary mind began to notice something strange. No matter how many steps they took, the emerald stretch of grass ahead never seemed to draw closer. It lingered on the horizon like a mirage, mocking their struggle.
"Have- have we not made any progress?"
Then in the distance, a vast shape loomed on the horizon, its outline lit by molten-orange lamps. At first, he thought it was a city. Then he realized—no. A fortress. A bastion so enormous it seemed to stretch across the horizon itself. Its walls were a dark stone, or something like it, rising over a hundred meters high, with segments stabbing even higher acting as watchtowers.
The burly man raised his voice.
"Allow me to make something clear, Vangen. You are invaders. For that transgression, you will serve as property of the brilliant nation of Matslava. Remember the name."
Alphael's teeth clenched and his brows furrowed. "Invaders? Why would we even want invade a place like this? Just take us home already!" But his lips remained sealed.
The brave woman from before broke the silence, shouting through her tears.
"Matslava? We don't want work for a random country! Just take us back home already! I have children I need to take care of! Don't you understand that?!"
A soldier drew steel, pressing the blade to her throat. "Commander Llywelyn! Permission to execute this one for her disrespect."
The commander shook his head. "No need to dirty a blade for a Vangen. We need expendable soldiers."
He glanced back, his cold eyes brushing across the line of captives.
"Woman. Do you truly think you'd survive the trek home, even if we let you go?"
He sighed.
"Better you understand now. You Vangen — or as you call yourselves, humans — have crossed into a different world. Our world. It is called the Axis. We are the Axi. In the fifty years of your kind stumbling here, not one has ever left."
He tapped the fur ushanka on his head. "So carve it into your skulls. You will not go home. Not alive."
The woman broke into sobs. Others followed forming a chorus of quiet despair.
Alphael's eyes widened and were locked onto the ground.
"No. No. No. No—he's lying. That can't be true. A different world? That's insane. That's—what about Mom?!"
Yet deep down, he knew. The logic of home no longer applied. Not here. Not in this place that had already forced him to kill.
His thoughts blurred, until suddenly, he realized where he was. The gates of the bastion loomed before him, vast and dark.
They opened with a roar, revealing the heart of Matslava.
And what waited inside was no salvation.