The gates of Firmament City welcomed me with the sound of scanning machines and the thud of heavy metal. The air was filled with the scent of hot oil and synthetic cigarette smoke.

  Reina floated slowly around me, her glowing blue eyes observing every corner.

  “As usual… this city is too busy for its size.”

  “Normal. It’s one of the smaller cities under Old World Network supervision.”

  “I know. But still, people here love playing with dangerous machines too much.”

  I didn’t answer. My steps slowly traced the narrow streets of the city, filled with hanging cables and flickering digital screens.

  Old World Network. The largest organization managing the Fertissio region.

  An expansion project by the Kingdom of Aurelius, they say, to research the ruins of this continent—a land once torn apart by war between humans, machines, and magic.

  What’s left now? Wastelands and machine monsters that never die.

  Firmament is just a small dot. One of dozens of artificial cities built for a single purpose: to study the structure of mechanical monsters, and why magic doesn't work on them.

  Whenever struck by magic, those monsters instantly activate an anti-magic shield. Automatically. A defense system from within their cores. No matter how powerful the spell, it’s nothing but a breeze on their armor.

  So, the only thing that can fight them—are these. Guns. Bullets. Logic. And blood.

  “Anyway,” Reina spoke again while watching two scavengers pass in front of us, “look at these people. Everyone’s getting more extreme.”

  One carried a double-barreled fire rifle with a plasma grip. The other wore an augmented suit fused to his spine, cables glowing along his neck.

  Some even… replaced their bodies.

  Steel arms. Digital eyes. Artificial bones. Modifications like that could buy a small city, but still—they chose to become machines rather than weak humans easy to devour.

  “Functionality matters more than humanity in a place like this,” I muttered.

  “And you? Still loyal to your original body?”

  “If I could, I’d want this body to at least stop bleeding first.”

  Reina chuckled.

  I took a deep breath. Three small cores in the tactical bag. A few bullets left. And a wound in my stomach that was starting to throb again.

  “So,” Reina floated closer, lounging mid-air, “wanna go to the scrap collection office first? Or the doctor first, so your guts don’t really spill out?”

  I raised my hand and tapped the module on my wrist. Advanced Relay Module, or A.R.M—official communication device of the Old World Network. The screen lit up, scanned my iris,

  then unlocked with a digital click.

  Financial account. Savings. Balance:

  29 Nexbit.

  Reina squinted. “Twenty-nine?”

  “Twenty-nine Nexbit,” I muttered. “Old World Network’s digital currency.”

  “So… is that a lot or a little?”

  “Twenty-nine Nexbit isn’t even enough to buy one meal, Reina.”

  She sighed deeply. “You used to be a prince, now you can’t even buy dinner. The irony of your life.”

  I smirked. “That’s why we’re going to the scrap collection office first. So we can afford bandages… and dinner.”

  We walked down the main road toward a large building bearing the O.W.N logo—Firmament Scrap Collection Office. A line had already begun forming outside. Scavengers stood with metal crates, large bags, even one carrying a monster’s head with cables trailing from its neck.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  I headed straight to an empty counter. The receptionist was young, wearing a standard O.W.N vest, face tired.

  “Number of machine cores: three,” I said, placing the metal pouch on the table. “And some extra scrap. Grade 2C.”

  She weighed, scanned, and calculated. A hologram screen opened beside her.

  “Total: 221 Nexbit,” she said. “Please present your A.R.M.”

  I raised my hand, the A.R.M screen lit up. The transfer completed in just three seconds.

  Click.

  Transaction complete.

  Reina watched the process, floating slowly. “This device… it’s pretty convenient, huh?”

  I turned and left the building without looking back. “Of course. This isn’t a magic city, Reina. Here, we have to get used to all the tech available.”

  I took a side alley, a narrow street not even paved. The ground was muddy, filled with metal junk and cables dangling from surrounding buildings.

  Some scavengers slept in the alley—wrapped in thin jackets, shoes still on, weapons clutched like pillows.

  “Arche…” Reina’s voice sounded hesitant. “Where are you going? This area’s kind of… well, rough. And… you passed an official health facility three minutes ago.”

  “Of course I’m going to treat this wound.”

  Before she could reply, I stopped in front of a small, shabby building. The paint was peeling, one window half-broken. Outside were a severed human hand, a monster tail, and a

  blood-stained helmet stacked in a metal basket.

  Reina stared at those objects for a long time. “…I forgot this place still existed.”

  I pushed open the creaky metal door.

  “Haah? Arche?” a familiar voice greeted me. “Back again? I thought your corpse would be sent here in a plastic bag this week. But turns out you’re still walking, huh?”

  “Unfortunately, yeah.” I stepped inside.

  The room was unchanged: the smell of medical alcohol, cracked floors, and one operating chair stained with rust.

  Doctor Ryvolin. The only “doctor” in Firmament willing to work cheap, though no one knows where his degree is from. But his hands are quick, and his meds are real. Mostly.

  “So,” he said, sitting down, “how big’s the wound? And how dumb were you this time?”

  I lifted my shirt. The emergency bandage I applied had started leaking at the bottom. A long gash along my side.

  Ryvolin clicked his tongue. “Not bad. At least a hundred Nexbit. That’s without anesthesia. With anesthesia, well, it’s extra.”

  “No anesthesia,” I said quickly.

  “Hm~ stingy as always.” He smiled in satisfaction.

  I opened the A.R.M and transferred exactly 100 Nexbit.

  Ryvolin nodded, pressed a button on the table, and the operating light switched on. “Lie down. Don’t move. Scream if you want, but don’t kick me.”

  I climbed onto the creaky bed, taking a deep breath.

  The first needle went in.

  “Aghh…!”

  Reina quickly turned away. “…I’ll never get used to seeing this.”

  I bit into my sleeve, trying not to bite my tongue.

  Second needle. Third. Rough stitches. Blood dripped to the side of the bed.

  Ryvolin hummed like he was sewing clothes, not human skin.

  Even though I’d been to this shabby clinic many times, I still couldn’t get used to the pain. Damn it.

  “If you want no pain, pay more,” he said, pulling the thread. “If you stay broke, then just endure it. This is already a discount.”

  I turned slightly, smirking. “Feels… like a hell discount.”

  Once the final stitch was pulled and tied, I sat up slowly and exhaled deeply.

  “Done?” I asked.

  “Done. But don’t start jumping or playing tag with monsters. Those stitches could pop any time,” said Ryvolin, yawning. “For the next few days, get some rest.”

  “If I don’t go out scavenging, I won’t be able to eat.”

  “True,” he said, laughing. “But as long as you can still walk on two legs, come back here. I’ll patch you up, friend rate.”

  I didn’t answer. Enough. I put my shirt back on and walked out of the building.

  Reina reappeared beside me, her digital face still a bit pale. “I hate watching that. Official clinics aren’t this brutal. They use healing magic, not… stitching skin like torn fabric.”

  “And it costs twice as much,” I said.

  “True. But the result is you can move freely right away. No fear of your wounds reopening.”

  I said nothing.

  Reina sighed. “But yeah… we’re not exactly in a position to be picky, huh?”

  Still, I didn’t respond. I walked toward a small stall on the edge of the main road.

  A metal sign above read: “MENU: PEOPLE’S PORTION – 30 NEXBIT.” I raised one finger to the vendor, and he handed me a box of synthetic rice with powdered soup and artificial protein chunks.

  30 Nexbit.

  Remaining: 120 Nexbit.

  I ate while walking. The taste? Same as always. Bland. But filling. Good enough.

  I bit into a fake meat chunk, thinking about my remaining balance.

  “One hundred twenty Nexbit…” I muttered.

  Enough for bullets.

  Or enough to survive two days.

  I kept walking away from the city, past the outer gates of Firmament, which were barely guarded.

  Reina floated silently beside me. After what she saw earlier—muddy paths, crumbling buildings, piles of trash, and humans sleeping with weapons in their arms—she had nothing more to say.

  But I was used to it.

  I turned right, following a dirt path cutting through the ruins of metal containers.

  There was a row of tents there—blue, gray, brown—lined up like an abandoned refugee camp.

  I stopped in front of a small tent I’d set up a month ago. Made of torn tarp, plastic rope, and two bent metal rods.

  Home.

  I stepped inside and lay down on the floor, cushioned by old, worn-out clothes. The sound of plastic and fabric rustled softly as my body sank in.

  Finally, Reina spoke.

  “Tomorrow… the plan?”

  “Scrap again. What else?”

  “Not that.” She looked at me from above, still floating casually. “Long-term. Are you sure you want to keep living like this?”

  I went silent. Staring at the tent ceiling, slightly torn at one corner.

  “Of course I know,” I finally replied. “I still remember my goal.”

  Reina waited.

  “To survive… and return.”

  Return to that kingdom.

  To Evernoir