The closer they drew to Monarek, the more the world seemed to shift. The sky turned a sickly hue, a pale haze hanging in the air like an oppressive shroud. Smog twisted lazily above the horizon, weaving itself into the atmosphere, while the ground beneath their mechanized carriage trembled faintly with the vibrations of industry.
"The air tastes. metallic," Larin muttered, rubbing his tongue against his teeth.
"Welcome to the Kirat Empire," Tyrs said dryly. "Where even the air tries to kill you."
"It's not the air that'll do it," Mynta added with a smirk. "It's the people."
And over the final rise, Monarek unfolded before them: sprawled and massive. The walls of the city reared like a fortress above the ground level, shooting higher than 200 feet into the sky, the watchtowers glinting ominously through the murky light. The skyline beyond the walls was endless and chaotic, spires angular as shards of broken glass, and industrial zones squat and unwholesome. Streams of smoke and mana energy spiralled skyward, twisting unnatural patterns in the air.
"It's huge," Larin said, his voice quivering.
"It's a monster," Mynta corrected. "And monsters like this always devour themselves in the end."
The city gates themselves were an ordeal unto themselves. Carriages and pedestrians stood in long, restless lines, pouring through checkpoints manned by guards clad in polished armor and mechanical exosuits. Each gate bristled with activity: rune scanners buzzed, enchanted dogs sniffed for contraband, and clerks scribbled names and tallies into oversized ledgers.
When their turn came, Tyrs handed over their identification tokens, which the guard inspected with the bored precision of someone who had seen too many faces in a single day.
"You're clear," he said, stamping a pass with a flick of his gauntleted hand. "Move along."
The moment they crossed into the city, Monarek's cacophony struck them like a wave. The streets were a maze of jostling vendors, overly laden carts, and shouting merchants. Buildings leaned precariously into one another, their walls streaked with soot and grime. The smell of fried food, unwashed bodies, and smoke mingled in an unpleasantly metallic tang that clung in the air.
"Alive, isn't it?" Mynta remarked, wrinkling her nose.
"Alive and suffocating," Tyrs muttered, her eyes scanning the chaos with practiced wariness.
Larin leaned out of the carriage, taking in the sights. Children darted through the crowds, some playing, others picking pockets with quick hands. Hawkers shouted over each other, selling everything from enchanted trinkets to questionable foodstuffs. A man at a makeshift stall waved a rusted dagger, promising it had once belonged to a Kirat war hero.
"This is just the outskirts?" Larin asked.
Just wait, Mynta said grimly.
Their carriage arrived at a mechanized transport hub and they changed into a more streamlined, steam-powered vehicle. As the rhythmic click of gears pushed them towards the city's core, the scenery started changing. The streets grew wider, the buildings grew taller, and the people seemed richer, yet no less exhausted.
They shopped the sprawling marketplaces first—a maze of closely packed kiosks and fixed shops. While survival was sold on the periphery, here the wares were decadent: enchanted silks, rare spell components, and delicately crafted automata that moved with unsettling grace.
Larin's eyes traveled to a merchant who stood before a velvet cloth, upon which rested small glowing orbs. "What are those?
Mana reserves," Tyrs said, her voice dismissive. "Overpriced, underpowered, and probably rigged to explode if you misuse them."
Nearby, a woman in a heavy cloak demonstrated a sleek mechanical bird that flapped its metal wings and chirped in perfect mimicry of a real one. "For your home," she said to a passing couple, "or perhaps as a gift for the discerning collector.".
"All excess," she said, her hand sweeping through the view. "Gilded distractions for people trying to forget they live in a dying empire."
As they went further in, the air grew colder, and streets were lined up with a certain morbid efficiency. They marched through the Administrative District, full of functionaries striding in an efficient pace, their robes marked by the magical glyphs of rank.
"Here's where they write the rules that crush the rest of us," Tyrs said, her voice low. "Every decision made in those offices trickles down to the outskirts, and by the time it gets there, it's poison."
Soldiers marched through the streets, their boots landing on cobblestones in perfect synchronization. Their armor was clean, but their faces showed nothing, as if the machinery they worked has sucked the very humanity out of them.
"And here's where they enforce them," Mynta added, nodding towards the barracks. "Efficient, brutal and completely without soul."
They walked past a great monument: a gigantic golden statue of an imperial mage waving the Kirat banner. At the base of the monument, beggars huddled, and city elites stepped around them.
"Well, aren't they doing just fine?" Larin sneered.
"For now," Tyrs said.
They did not take a detour through the Red Light District lightly or by accident.
This place," Mynta said as they stepped from the carriage, "is where you find the truth. The things people won't say in daylight get spilled in the shadows.".
There was something curiously vital about the district, vice and vulnerability intermingled. Lanterns cast a dim, flickering light over the brightly painted facades of brothels and taverns. Music and laughter spilled into the streets, mingling with the scent of perfume and smoke.
"Stay sharp," Tyrs warned. "It's easy to lose yourself here."
A man in a tattered jacket came their way, his eyes piercing keen despite the rags he wore. "Seeking companionship? News? Or somewhere to forget?"
"We are here for answers," Tyrs said pointedly.
He pointed down the road to a poorly lit tavern. "Try The Gilded Veil. Ask for Enlo.".
Inside, the tavern was alive with murmured conversations and the occasional raucous laugh. Tyrs and Mynta headed to the bar, where a stocky man with a scarred face was polishing glasses.
"Enlo," Tyrs said, sliding a coin across the counter.
The man's eyes flicked to the coin, then to the trio. "Depends on what you're asking."
"Rumors. About the imperial mages. And the factories," Mynta said.
Enlo's face darkened. "That's dangerous talk. But. I might know a thing or two."
As Tyrs and Mynta pressed him for information, Larin scanned the room. He saw a woman in the corner booth sitting with her eyes fixed on them. She wore dark silk wrapped around her form, and the fingers of each hand were lined with rings, each one emitting a faint light of magic. Their eyes touched for a second, and then she nodded and slipped out of the back door.
"That was weird," Larin whispered.
In the carriage, the three friends processed what they had learned.
"The mages are cranking up the production of mana weapons," Tyrs said grimly. "They're getting ready for something big."
"And whatever it is," Mynta added, "it's going to burn through the outskirts first.".
Larin looked out at the city, its spires rising like jagged teeth against the smog-filled sky. "It's a machine," he said softly. "And machines don't stop until they destroy everything in their path."
"And that's why we're here," Tyrs said firmly. "To figure out how to break it."
As Monarek approached, with its splendor and corruption uncontestable, Larin prepared himself for what was to come. The city may be large and powerful, but so are the resolve and determination of those who stand against it.