Yari was a large city with a massive population, most of whom were effectively imprisoned in this world.

By its very nature, Yari was a prison, and Seraph Null, this world's god, was its warden.

Perhaps that was why the entire city was chained down with massive chains, as if sealing away some great, unfathomable evil.

Damon observed the city with open disgust.

Filth caked the streets. Waste pooled in the cracks of the ground. Gutters overflowed with foul liquid that reeked of rot. Beggars lined the roads, horribly emaciated people barely clinging to life. Somewhere nearby, the copper stench of blood hung thick in the air, accompanied by the wet sound of someone bleeding out in a narrow alley.

Lyn walked beside Damon, his voice low.

"Yari is segregated into several parts."

He swallowed before continuing.

"Yari is built in layers, not districts. Each layer exists to isolate behavior and enforce hierarchy. It is made for obedience. Defaulters are eliminated."

Damon glanced at him coolly.

"You know a lot."

Sithara nodded from behind them, her expression faintly sad.

"Our father gathered information on it. When… before he was tracked down and sent to Eidolon."

That was news to Damon. He had assumed their father had always been imprisoned there. Instead, he had been caught and then thrown into that hell.

Lyn raised his hand and counted on his fingers.

"The Outer Ring, also called the Grinding Gate, has massive walls. Always open, but watched by countless eyes."

He paused, frowning slightly.

"Entry requires branding. The brand is not just identification. It is a magical limiter. Most newcomers never leave this ring."

He continued after a breath.

"It functions as markets, slums, recruitment pits for the gladiator arena, mana core exchange, public punishments, and more. I am not sure of everything."

"You mean prostitution," Damon said, glancing toward a naked woman sitting in a second floor window, casually smoking from a pipe.

Lyn's face flushed slightly before he nodded.

Lazarak chuckled at the boy's embarrassed reaction.

"It is a given. In a place like this, prostitution was one of the earliest systems mortals invented during hardship. It was effective. One party gives service, the other pays."

Damon closed his eyes as they continued walking.

"That is disgusting."

Lazarak gazed around him calmly.

"This place is filled with the poor and the desperate, all hoping for a miracle. It is a perfect breeding ground for religion."

"I imagine the Grinding Gate is not the only place with rules," Damon said.

Sithara continued where her brother left off.

"The Lower City comes next. Also called the Chained Districts. It is separated by barrier walls that shift daily. Each district specializes in a function. Labor, Crafting, Training and Extraction."

She stepped around a dark stain on the ground and passed through a drifting cloud of smoke that smelled unmistakably of a corpse.

"People are not allowed to live where they work. The barriers lower at fixed intervals to allow workers from the Grinding Gate in and out. This is also where the Chained Knights are trained, and where the gladiator arena is located."

She lifted her hand slightly.

"Movement requires chain clearance. Which is done through branding."

Her fingers brushed the brand on her wrist.

"The chains here are heavier. Longer and invisible. People do not ask why anymore. They have forgotten what freedom tastes like. Generations have been born as prisoners, so they mistake the bondage for life itself."

She pointed farther into the city.

"That is the Middle Tier. The Branded Elite. This is where the original races live. The natural denizens of this realm."

"Nobles, Officers and Overseers," she continued. "They have better housing. Cleaner streets. Still chained, but decoratively. They carry them with pride as a symbol of their god, Seraph Null."

"Their chains are enchanted," Lazarak added, his expression darkening. "They enhance strength, suppress rebellion, and enforce obedience."

Damon gave him a sideways glance.

"What."

Lazarak shrugged lightly.

"I happen to know Seraph Null on a personal level."

Lyn's eyes sparked with awe at that statement.

"There are also outsiders there," he added quickly. "Those with great power are invited to live among the chained. It gives people hope. They believe those outsiders are free."

He hesitated.

"They are the most loyal."

This was where Damon's cult would quietly grow. Despair thrived behind comfort. He already had plans.

His gaze shifted toward the distant tower.

'Come to think of it, Lysithara also had a high tower at its center. Was that inspired by this place?'

Sithara continued, unaware of his thoughts.

"The High Bastions. The Wardens' Domain. Completely restricted. Only chain bearers of rank may enter. Seraph Null's influence bleeds strongest there. The king of the natives lives there, and almost no outsiders are allowed."

Lazarak smiled faintly as she reached the last part.

"The Black Spire. No windows are visible or doors. The heart of Yari. Where chains are forged. Where brands are written into souls. Where Seraph Null resides, or manifests."

He raised his hand slowly, pointing toward it.

"The spire is not a building. It is an anchor. A divine nail pinning this world in place. The gate of our escape is there, as well as the elixir you seek."

He turned to Damon.

"If we want to leave, we must go through that."

Damon crossed his arms, completely unbothered by the looming threat of the tower.

"I will leave if I want. As long as there is a road to follow, I dare to walk it."

He paused suddenly.

His stomach growled.

At the same time, his mana dipped sharply, siphoned away in a slow, bleeding pulse.

"Hmm."

He crouched and pressed his fingers to the ground.

"I see. This is how the city maintains order."

He looked back toward the Black Spire.

"We are at the center of a mana anomaly. The cause is the spire itself. It absorbs mana and induces hunger. Outsiders cannot absorb ambient mana here, so we are forced to rely on mana cores to survive."

A thin smile spread across his face.

"How insidious."

He stared at the tower.

"Hunger is a horrible thing."

"And such a beautiful weapon for control."

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