Back at the Eleventh Ring outpost, the dim glow of emergency lights flickered overhead, casting uneven shadows along the battered walls. The air was stale, thick with the scent of gunpowder, sweat, and rusting metal. Soldiers moved about—cleaning weapons, checking supplies—but none of them paid much attention to the two officers walking through the main barracks.

  Sam broke the silence first.

  “So. What’s next?” He stretched, rolling his shoulders before lacing his hands behind his head, smirking. “Let me guess—march right up to the Sentinels and ask nicely for directions?”

  Nyx barely spared him a glance. “We’re going to the Second Ring.”

  Sam’s arms dropped. “I’m sorry. What?”

  Nyx kept walking toward the command room, expecting him to follow. He did.

  “We’re meeting Samuel there. He’s arranging a meeting with someone.”

  Sam scoffed. “Uh-huh. ‘Someone.’ You mean your mysterious radio boyfriend?”

  Nyx stopped. Turned. Her violet eyes locked onto him with quiet intensity.

  “It wasn’t a ‘boyfriend,’ Sam. It was someone who knew something only I could know.”

  That shut him up—for a second.

  Then, he muttered, “Right. And we’re just gonna trust that? No name, no face, just some cryptic voice promising the world? You know that sounds like a textbook scam, right? Could be some sixty-year-old dude with an eye patch and a beer gut, catfishing you into a trap.”

  Nyx exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple.

  “We don’t have the luxury of ignoring leads.”

  Sam crossed his arms. “Fine. But how, exactly, do you plan on getting to the Second Ring? Last I checked, we don’t have invitations to the high-society dinner party.”

  Nyx resumed walking, her mind already moving ahead. “The Eternal Train.”

  Sam blinked.

  Then, he blinked again.

  “You’re joking.”

  She didn’t respond.

  Sam let out a long, suffering sigh. “Of course you’re not joking. Because why would we ever do things the easy way? No, let’s just sneak onto the most secure transport in the Rings, ride along like a couple of stowaways, and hope we don’t get caught and vaporized. Fantastic plan. Very subtle.”

  Nyx ignored him, already calculating the logistics.

  “We’ll need to get to the Eighth Ring first. The train stations there are less fortified than the ones in the inner Rings.”

  Sam narrowed his eyes. “Less fortified. Not unfortified.”

  “We’ll sneak in, board the train, stay out of sight, and get off in the Second Ring,” she continued. “Simple.”

  Sam let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah. Simple.”

  Nyx shot him a warning look.

  He raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll shut up. When do we leave?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  The wind howled through the abandoned outskirts of the Eighth Ring, a relentless force that whipped up dust and loose scraps of metal, rattling them across the cracked pavement. The night was deep, cold, and stretched infinitely above them, casting an eerie glow over the towering train station ahead.

  It loomed like a fortress, its dark silhouette contrasting against the artificial lights that pulsed along its floating rails—a technological marvel in a dead world. The levitating tracks extended endlessly in both directions, disappearing into the abyss beyond the ring’s edge.

  Nyx and Sam stood in the shadows, just outside the station’s floodlit perimeter. The air smelled of oil, steel, and something faintly metallic—a scent that clung to everything in the industrial sectors.

  At the entrance, Sentinels stood in formation, their white-and-gold armor reflecting the harsh artificial lights. Their weapons were drawn, visors scanning, their movements precise. No wasted gestures. No distractions. They weren’t just standing guard. They were waiting for something.

  Sam adjusted the strap of his gear bag, casting a wary glance at the station. “So, fearless leader. What’s the plan?”

  Nyx’s sharp eyes swept across the area, taking in every detail. “We can’t go through the front. There are too many guards.”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I figured that much.”

  She ignored him. “See the maintenance scaffolding on the east side?”

  Sam followed her gaze. A thin, skeletal framework of walkways stretched up the side of the station, clinging to the structure like an afterthought. Some sections looked stable. Others—less so. Dangling cables swayed gently in the wind, and rusted beams groaned under their own weight.

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  “Climb up, avoid patrols, get onto the platform undetected,” she stated. “From there, we find an access hatch on the underside of the train. Crawl in before departure.”

  Sam let out a low whistle. “Risky. I like it.”

  They moved.

  Keeping to the deepest shadows, they darted across the open ground, their steps light, deliberate, silent. Every second stretched unbearably long, the floodlights sweeping dangerously close as they made their way toward the scaffolding.

  Reaching the base of the structure, Nyx scaled it with ease, her body moving with practiced efficiency. Sam followed—less gracefully.

  Halfway up, he muttered under his breath, “If I fall to my death, tell everyone I was incredibly handsome.”

  Nyx didn’t answer.

  At the top, they crouched behind a steel beam, peering down at the platform below.

  The train was massive—a sleek behemoth of black metal, its surface polished to a mirror sheen, hovering just above the levitating tracks. It hummed softly, a quiet mechanical growl as workers moved around it, checking systems, running diagnostics. The Sentinels remained stationed near the entrance, unaware of the two intruders lurking above them.

  Nyx spotted the hatch. “There.”

  They timed their descent with the shifting patrols, moving with precise, measured steps. The moment the guards’ backs were turned, Nyx slid down onto the train’s surface, unlatched the maintenance hatch, and slipped inside.

  Sam followed, grumbling as he squeezed into the tight space.

  The compartment was cramped, suffocating, barely large enough to move in. Wires and pipes ran along the walls, and the low hum of the train’s power core vibrated through the metal floor.

  Then—a deep, resonating rumble.

  The train lurched forward, slowly at first, then building momentum. The outside world became a blur of neon lights and industrial ruins, fading into the distance as they vanished into the inner Rings.

  They were on their way. The journey stretched on for days.

  The compartment wasn’t meant for long-term occupancy, but they made do—rationing supplies carefully, using the narrow crawlspaces to stretch their legs when the patrol cycles allowed.

  Water was limited, food even more so. Pre-packed rations—stale, tasteless, but enough to keep them moving.

  Sam sat with his back against the cold metal wall, tearing into a dry protein bar. “Next time,” he grumbled between bites, “we smuggle ourselves in with something more comfortable. Like a real train seat.”

  Nyx barely spared him a glance.

  Bathroom breaks were the trickiest part—timing their movements to avoid security sweeps, sneaking into employee quarters when necessary, and slipping back into their hiding place without a trace. It was a delicate balance, one wrong move spelling disaster.

  But they made it.

  And then—the Second Ring came into view.

  The train slowed, its engines humming softly as it approached the pristine white station. The contrast from where they had come from was almost disorienting. The air was clearer, untouched by smog. The buildings—tall, sleek, almost sterile—stretched toward the sky, their white surfaces gleaming under the sun.

  Security was tighter here. The Sentinels patrolled in well-organized formations, their armor polished to perfection, weapons held with a casual precision that only came from absolute confidence.

  Nyx's eyes flicked across the patrols, calculating. “We can’t use the same exit.”

  Sam scoffed. “No shit.”

  They waited. Watching. Searching for a window of opportunity.

  And then—they saw it.

  A cargo crew unloading supplies. A hatch opening just long enough for them to slip through.

  They moved.

  Ducking low, they weaved through the workers, blending into the organized chaos. The moment their feet hit solid ground outside the train, they broke away—silent, swift and unnoticed.

  The moment they entered the city, the shift was jarring.

  The air was light, crisp, untainted by the rot of the lower Rings. The streets were clean, unnervingly so. Every surface, pristine. Every building, flawless. A city untouched by struggle, where war was something that happened to other people.

  Sam let out a low whistle, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “Wow. I hate how nice this place is.”

  Nyx said nothing. She led them away from the main streets, sticking to the less-patrolled alleyways. They moved quickly, efficiently, avoiding open spaces, slipping between gaps in surveillance.

  They walked until they reached their destination.

  A secluded hut, hidden deep within an untouched forest outside the city—its aged wood and unassuming design a stark contrast to the pristine Second Ring. A security array surrounded the area, invisible to most, yet Nyx knew exactly how to bypass it.

  Inside, two figures waited.

  Samuel stood near a wooden table, arms crossed. Beside him, a man Nyx recognized instantly.

  Bernard.

  And next to him—a woman.

  Amelie.

  Samuel’s sharp gaze flicked to them as they entered, scanning them from head to toe with his usual calm, clinical intensity.

  “You two look like you’ve been dragged through a sewer.”

  Sam huffed, brushing off his coat. “Feels about right.” He stretched, wincing slightly. “Ever tried stowing away on a train for days? Great for your back, not so great for your hygiene.”

  Nyx barely acknowledged him. Her attention was locked onto Bernard.

  “You’re the one arranging this meeting.”

  Bernard, seated with the same air of deliberate patience as always, gave a slow nod. “I am.” His voice was smooth, measured—calm in a way that never felt entirely natural.

  “And you must be Nyx. I’ve heard quite a bit about you. It is my first time seeing you in person, but I think you already know about me.”

  Nyx didn’t react. “Then you know we don’t have time to waste.”

  A faint smile tugged at Bernard’s lips. “Agreed. But first—sit. Rest.” He gestured toward the chairs across from him. “I imagine you haven’t had a proper meal in days.”

  Sam, already moving before Nyx could object, dropped into a chair. “Finally. A man who understands priorities.” He reached for a tin of food from the table, prying it open. “Please, don’t mind if I do.”

  Nyx remained standing. “Who’s the contact?”

  Bernard set his elbows on the table, fingers steepled. “Someone with access to the Tournament.”

  Nyx’s eyes narrowed. “That’s vague.”

  “It’s necessary.” Bernard’s tone didn’t shift. “You’ll meet them soon enough. For now, all you need to know is that this opportunity doesn’t come often.”

  Nyx exchanged a glance with Sam.

  Still chewing, he raised an eyebrow. “…I don’t like this.”

  "And what do you want in return?" Nyx asked.

  Bernard chuckled softly. "Straight to the point. I like that." He leaned forward slightly. "We want the same thing, Nyx—the downfall of the Sentinels. A change in the Rings. And to do that, we need pieces in play."

  Nyx crossed her arms. "You think Nigel is one of those pieces."

  Bernard’s gaze remained steady. "Don’t you?"

  Silence settled over the room.

  Nyx took a slow breath. She wasn’t sure what she expected from this meeting, but Bernard was proving to be just as cryptic as the man on the radio.

  "Fine," she said. "Set up the meeting."

  Bernard nodded. "You’ll have your chance soon."

  Sam leaned back in his chair. "Great. Love these mysterious, high-stakes missions with no clear plan. Really gets the blood pumping."

  Nyx shot him a look.

  He raised his hands. "I’ll shut up."

  Amelie, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. "You’ll need to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. I suggest you rest while you can."

  Nyx exhaled sharply but nodded. "Let us know when it’s time."

  Bernard smiled faintly. "Oh, you’ll know."

  With that, the meeting was over.

  Nyx and Sam left the secluded hut, following Samuel along a quiet, narrow path that stretched into the outskirts. The further they walked, the more distant the city felt—far from its gleaming towers, beyond the ever-watchful gaze of the Sentinels.

  For a fleeting moment, they allowed themselves to imagine a life beyond war.

  But they both knew better—that was an impossible dream.