We were out of money.
That is — I was out of money. And staring at that miserable necklace in my hand only made it clearer how much of an idiot I had been.
— Everything I saved back home — I muttered, turning the necklace over and over as if, from some angle, it might turn magical — I spent on this thing. And it might not even work. We're broke.
Oud walked beside me in silence, eyes fixed on the ascent. I knew he had heard every word, but pretending not to hear was his specialty — maybe because hearing meant admitting we were screwed.
The mountain rose at a gentle yet endless incline. Every step made my legs burn, and every gust of wind carried rumors from the city above: voices, laughter, machines. That metallic murmur echoed as if someone were hammering my patience against an invisible anvil.
The dry air shimmered over the path, warping the landscape.
I felt just as warped.
After who-knows-how-long walking, we finally reached the top of the massive flattened mountain. And, to complete the picture, there it was: a gigantic line of people shoving, shouting, waiting in front of a gate that looked like it had been built by someone obsessed with symbols and reinforced wood.
I sighed and kept walking.
We tried to blend into the crowd — the classic trick of if no one notices, we get in.
It worked for exactly… three seconds.
— Hey! Where do you think you're going?
A strong arm blocked me. I looked up at a guard with dark skin, a hard stare, and the face of someone who wakes up irritated as a hobby.
— As far as I know, anyone can enter — I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
It was steadier than it was sensible.
Another guard approached. This one looked like a sweating statue — tall, pale, with the expression of someone who wished to be anywhere else.
— Yes, anyone can enter — he said, voice deep. — But there's a law: only those with ELTEC psychic stones or psychic fruits cross the gate.
I frowned.
— Why? What happens if we go in without them?
The dark-skinned guard snorted, as if I'd asked what color the sky was.
— Man, don't you see the line? Don't start with philosophy now.
Before I could retort, Oud joined the conversation — of course he did, with that calm tone that's infuriating because it works.
— The psychic fruit is for protection.
The pale guard pointed at him.
— Exactly. And without protection, you don't get in. Especially without money.
That's when I pulled the old necklace from my pocket.
— And this? Does it work?
The pale guard looked. Laughed. Not much — just enough to remind me how much I hated being underestimated.
— Where are you from? — he asked.
— Chiulrom.
He shook his head, murmuring:
— The Kingdom of Oppression…
Yeah. As if I needed the reminder.
Then a third guard appeared — short, sharp-eyed, with hands far too quick. She snatched the necklace from my hand before I could react.
— This works for one person only. And it's worn. It won't last long inside the city. You'll need another one. In good condition. And you need two.
My stomach twisted unpleasantly. Of course. Because life never delivers just one piece of bad news when it can deliver three.
Before I could protest, a bald man with a face full of scars appeared like a final verdict.
— What do you want?
— They want to enter — the pale guard replied.
The bald man sighed like someone carrying the weight of the world.
— Without money, you don't enter. Unless… — He sized us both up from head to toe. — …you help with a problem. Ulzors.
I took a deep breath, feeling the familiar irritation rise.
— Ulzors. Of course. Because nothing is ever simple.
— Then it should be easy for you — the dark-skinned guard shot back. — Or you stay out here.
The bald man pointed down the mountain slope. Where we'd come from. Down there, almost hidden among rocks and dust, was the damn shop.
I froze.
— We're going to have to… go all the way down again?
The pale guard laughed. That short, dry laugh meant solely to irritate.
— Wait… are you sure? — he said, frowning.
The bald man creased his face, made a quick gesture for him to come closer. The two stepped aside.
Whispers.
Always a bad sign.
I lowered my eyes, but my ears kept working — unfortunately.
I stopped trying to understand everything and began catching fragments instead, shards of conversation:
"too young…"
"…the sick one… going to die anyway…"
"…doesn't matter… not our problem…"
My stomach knotted.
Of course. To them, Oud was already a walking corpse. Just another dead weight they could throw at the ulzors.
"…they won't last…"
"…Varkis…"
"…too many people…"
"…this is cruel…"
"…he has cancer…"
The pale guard… at least he still sounded human.
"…they deal with it…"
"…if they accept… that's it…"
The rest dissolved into indistinct murmurs, a mix of concern and grim faces. I only caught a heavy sigh — and the silence that comes when someone gives up arguing.
When I realized their "plan" was basically to dump the responsibility on us and hope for the best, I felt that familiar chill of this is bad.
The bald man returned first.
— So? — I asked, crossing my arms. — What did you decide?
He exhaled, already tired of me.
— You go to the shop. Talk to Varkis. Deal with the ulzor problem. That's the price of entry. What do you choose?
Wonderful.
In addition to facing ulzors, now we had unwanted supervision.
My stomach answered for me, with a loud growl.
— I only accept if there's food first.
— Hunger is worse than an ulzor — Oud said seriously.
The bald man made a short gesture, and minutes later the dark-skinned guard returned with a basket of warm bread and a bottle of bitter coffee.
We sat on the stone steps, the colossal wooden gate behind us, while dusk painted the sky in shades of orange and dust.
Silence.
Warm food.
The kind of pause that makes you think too much.
When I finished the last piece of bread, I wrestled the wind for the right to take a deep breath. I stood up.
Oud stood right after.
The next step was going down the mountain. Again. Finding Varkis. Facing ulzors.
And if we were lucky — which I doubted — finally entering the heart of the City.