Adam (Gobar) stepped outside and saw the carriage waiting for him.
It was an old, weathered contraption, its dark wooden frame coated in the grime of countless journeys.
The once ornate carvings that adorned its surface had long faded, worn smooth by the passage of time and neglect.
The body of the carriage had a boxy shape, painted a dull black, with chipped gold trim that hinted at a past elegance now lost.
Heavy iron wheels groaned with every movement, their thick spokes caked in dried mud from forgotten roads.
The small windows, fitted with cracked glass, distorted the world outside. On either side, faded velvet curtains, moth-eaten and limp, hung in disrepair.
As Adam approached, the faint smell of musty leather greeted him, seeping from the well-worn seats inside.
Despite their age, the cushions still held a certain softness, offering some comfort for the long journey ahead.
Up front, the driver sat hunched on a rickety wooden seat, his back bent from years of hard labor. His long, tattered coat hung loosely on his wiry frame, stained from countless storms, dust-laden winds, and the occasional splash of mud.
A wide-brimmed, weather-beaten hat shaded his face, but beneath it, his eyes remained sharp, constantly scanning the streets with the weary vigilance of someone far too familiar with the city's darker side.
His hands, calloused and rough, clutched the reins tightly, guiding the two horses tethered to the carriage.
The animals, thin and tired, seemed a shadow of their former selves. Their once-glossy coats had turned dull and were now streaked with dirt. They moved in a slow, mechanical rhythm, their breath visible in the cool morning air.
Adam sighed, knowing this journey would not be a comfortable one.
Though the horses appeared worn down by the years, a faint spark of magic still lingered in their eyes. It was subtle, but unmistakable—these creatures were more than mere beasts of burden.
Likely, they had been enchanted to endure long, grueling journeys through the city's endless layers.
Ko approached with a respectful nod. "Master, here is your carriage," he said.
Adam glanced at the carriage once more, assessing its condition.
He didn't need much, and after a brief moment, he thought, 'This will do.'
With a steady step, he moved forward and climbed inside.
The driver, his voice low and gravelly, turned his head slightly. "Sir, where would you like to go?"
From within the dark confines of the carriage, Adam's voice responded, clear and composed. "Our destination is River City."
Without another word, the driver shook his head and set the carriage in motion. Despite the vehicle's rough, timeworn exterior, he handled it with a practiced ease.
Maneuvering through the bustling streets, he expertly dodged both pedestrians and obstacles, his movements fluid and unhurried.
There was an air of quiet mystery about him—he spoke little, and when he did, his words were clipped and efficient, as though every syllable had been carefully chosen and measured. His years of experience were evident, but so was his restraint.
Inside, Adam sat back in the creaking seat, the rhythmic rattling of the carriage becoming a steady backdrop to the city's noise.
The scent of burning wood and damp earth filled the air, seeping through the small windows.
As the carriage rolled along, Adam peered through the cracked glass, his gaze widening as the city unfolded before him.
The fifth layer, a sprawling slum, came into view. Crooked huts made from scavenged materials leaned against one another, huddled like beggars seeking warmth in the cold, unfeeling city.
The sight was both chaotic and desperate, a stark reminder of the harsh reality of this world.
The air in the fifth layer was thick with soot and the faint shimmer of magic that had long gone stale.
Children, no older than eight, worked tirelessly in the streets. Their small hands were stained with grime as they carried heavy sacks or swept doorways under the stern gaze of elders.
Life here was unforgiving, and even the young were not spared its harsh demands.
Every corner seemed to host a brawl—men and women wrestling in the streets, fights erupting over scraps of food or petty insults.
The sound of fists striking flesh and angry shouts filled the air, a constant backdrop to the chaos.
Above, on the second layer of streets, small, crumbling homes lined the narrow roads.
These households were poor, though slightly better off than those below. The people here moved with purpose, running errands or trading what little they had in a desperate attempt to survive.
Rickety balconies teetered precariously over the streets, crowded with goods. Traders leaned over the edges, shouting offers to anyone passing by, hoping to make a sale.
The occasional flicker of magic lit up the dim streets—a sudden burst of light or a gust of wind conjured by desperate hands, illuminating the hopelessness in their eyes.
Business thrived in a chaotic frenzy. Stalls were packed with hastily repaired tools, dried herbs, and shimmering trinkets of questionable magic.
The clamor of haggling voices filled the air, as merchants pushed their wares on weary travelers.
Rogues and adventurers brushed past Adam's window, their cloaks billowing behind them. Weapons gleamed at their sides, and their eyes darted through the crowds, scanning for opportunity—or trouble.
These were the kinds of people who thrived in such an environment, always on the lookout for the next score.
After what seemed like an eternity rattling through the maze of streets, the carriage finally approached the West Gate of the Fifth Layer.
Adam leaned forward, watching as the imposing structure loomed into view.
The western gate was massive, built from dark stone that towered high above the bustling road leading to it. It stood as a grim reminder of the divide between the layers, separating the slums from the other parts of the city.
The path beyond it would take Adam to River City, but for now, it marked the end of the chaos of the Fifth Layer.
The gate itself was an arched masterpiece, its surface adorned with intricate runes that shimmered faintly with protective magic.
These runes were ancient, designed to ward off intruders and dangerous creatures, their power still strong despite the passing of centuries.
The heavy iron doors, reinforced with wide bands of silver, stood slightly ajar, allowing a steady flow of people and carts to pass in and out of the city.
The doors were massive, wide enough to let entire caravans and processions through. Yet, with a single command, they could close in an instant, sealing off the city from any threat.
The ground beneath the gate bore deep grooves, worn smooth by the constant passage of feet, hooves, and wheels over the years.
These grooves were a testament to the countless travelers who had come and gone, carving their mark into the stone.
Thick stone walls surrounded the gate, rising nearly thirty feet high.
Battlements lined the top, their weathered stone bearing the scars of centuries of exposure to the elements.
Powerful enchantments fortified the walls, etched into their surface with glowing magical symbols that pulsed faintly in the fading light, providing an additional layer of defense for the city.
Along the edge of the wall, guards stood vigilant, their figures silhouetted against the sky.
Their eyes scanned the horizon, alert for any sign of trouble.
Positioned at regular intervals, each guard was armed with longbows and spears, ready to raise the alarm at the slightest hint of danger.
The guards were easily recognizable by their uniforms—dark, forest-green tunics made of tough, enchanted fabric.
The tunics were trimmed with silver, symbolizing their connection to the city's ruling powers. Their presence was a constant reminder that the city's defenses were not to be trifled with.
To be continued...