The following day, after a somewhat restless night, Bakhi and the rest of his men were indeed let loose within Avalon while they half-expected it to be a trick. Especially because it was the third queen who led them to their current home, a two-story building close to the palace itself. Even after Yuri dismissed them with a grin and a wave, saying they were free to explore as they liked, part of him expected that he would notice the hidden guards following them around. Or for an actual retinue to appear. Or for the restrictions to come suddenly down, one by one, tightening like a net, robbing them of their perceived freedom.

    But there was none of that. Not when night came, not when the sun rose, and not when they all left their home, splitting up to cover more ground within the city. Early in the day, he was already walking through the streets of the ''upper district,'' passing by different, tall buildings, all having flags and plaques, telling him they were some kind of official structures, not actually homes. Some were even guarded by young officers who offered a courteous nod when their eyes met... yet none of them stopped him from entering whenever he tried.

    Of course, he quickly realized he would have nothing to do inside any of them. One building turned out to be where incoming caravans could go and extend their so-called permits to stay in the city, while another dealt with currency conversions... And there was no mention of how they exchanged Avalonian gold with his Khulman variant.

    Exiting the buildings, seeing how nobody really bothered with his presence besides finding him interesting for a fleeting moment... It was hard not to tense up.

    He had spent nearly fifty years on horseback, and he’d been riding since before his voice had broken and he became a man. He chased gazelle across the plains as a young boy, watched dust storms rise like the monsters from the North, outriding them, and usually slept beneath the stars with only the steppe for company. He’d crossed borders no one else could to search for news for his Kahn and returned with maps etched into his mind, serving his empire. Even when he stayed inside cities, he could manage it... But this? This Avalon?

    This was something else entirely.

    The Sovereign''s city did not feel like an actual place for humans. It felt like a machine... or a... weird entity that was made for people instead of people naturally growing it as their tribe grew. It lacked nature''s unpredictable sense and, instead, was controlled. It was as if the Sovereign already felt himself to be God, to even design how the rocks form under their feet... Wherever he looked, no stray animals were chewing refuse, and no puddles could be seen of last night''s slight rain or filth. The streets were wide, their cobbles so evenly cut they looked drawn by a god’s ruler... It just felt... unnatural. As he walked, he saw strange glass lanterns atop black iron posts. He watched them the night before, hearing them humming faintly, their tops encased in faintly glowing spheres... showering warm, orange light without actual fires.

    Yet when he asked about it, everyone said it wasn''t the work of shamans. A bald-faced lie, he thought.

    But why would they lie to him? It didn''t make sense... Everywhere he looked, people moved with purpose. It lacked the frantic, scattered rush of marketplaces or the slow idleness of people going to the temple for a sermon. These people strode, alone or in pairs as if they were part of the machine that was Avalon. He saw some of them pulling strange carts, others holding books or papers, just reading while sitting on benches, doing nothing, and some simply pausing at outdoor stands to drink hot beverages in small porcelain cups.

    "It''s kind of... quiet," one of his warriors muttered when some of the group met up.

    "Too quiet," another added.

    Bakhi almost didn''t hear them as he was too busy watching the tram going past them, occupying the middle of the long main street.

    It came like the whistling wind on the steppes, rolling on steel wheels, sliding along the tracks embedded in the stone. Then, its bell rang loudly, and it hissed to a halt beside a row of waiting passengers. The doors opened, and people entered and exited without command or pressure. They were orderly... waiting for those who were on to get off, then hopping up before they sat calmly, some already reading. Once again... reading. Why? But he couldn''t answer it. Then... he flinched, hearing the bell again and watching as the door closed and the tram moved again.

    None of it was magic... But it felt like it. Seeing Bakhi''s trance-like state, one of his men coughed awkwardly, gently nudging him.

    "Do they all ride that thing?"

    "I think it’s for the public," Bakhi murmured. "I saw no escort, no seal of royalty or soldiers..."

    He answered as he stepped aside, and another group of Avalonians passed by them. Amongst the group, he noticed two women in dark navy blue uniforms walking shoulder to shoulder, short capes fluttering, swords at their sides. They were soldiers...? Guards? Yet they laughed as they passed a bakery, pausing to buy something steaming from the window.

    Bakhi blinked, finally recalling the faces of those who welcomed them yesterday.

    Yes... There were women... Soldiers.... Armed with weapons.

    It wasn’t that he disapproved. He’d met Khulmani women who could outshoot any man on the hunt or run down prey like a cheetah. But they weren’t... made for war. They weren’t enlisted and sent to fight... They weren’t given command as they commanded the home while their husbands did the warring. Just as he, the other Khulmani riders watched, too, silently thinking of the same thing. None made a comment, but all of them stared a little longer than necessary.

    Bakhi caught his reflection in a shop window as he turned around. He was a foreigner dressed in golden armor, his weathered face etched with the lines from the winds he had faced in his life. At the moment, he looked like a statue someone had dragged out of an old tale and set loose in the future—and that was how she felt.

    "Let''s go..." He shrugged, looking away with his intact eye, "We barely scratched the surface."

    After another hour of aimless wandering, they passed what appeared to be a school. It had large windows, revealing children seated at desks inside, boys and girls alike, all reading aloud while a tall man pointed to something on the board. Once again, reading. Yes, he could read it, but it was for the missions, for reporting, not for fun...

    Further down, they entered a plaza where music came from somewhere deeper in. It was not the usual drumming of Khulmani tunes but much softer, layered acoustic, and it had some kind of tint to it as if it wasn''t real music but distant yet not. None of them could put it into words, and none realized they were listening to a recording of Mikan''s music. As they headed into the crowd, they stopped at a stall that was selling something he was finally familiar with: Coffee. Bakhi smelled the roasted beans and spices around him, finally feeling a bit more at home all of a sudden.

    Seeing his loosening face, one of the warriors approached him quietly, leaning in and whispering.

    "Shall we try to buy some?"

    For a moment, Bakhi considered it but shook his head.

    "No," he shrugged. "There’s nothing to pay with, and if we try, we may be ripped off. Who knows how well they accept our gold compared to their own?"

    "Then they would tarnish our honor."

    "Maybe," Bakhi shook his head, starting to walk again, "But the people here are not warriors. I don''t expect regular folk to understand what that word means."

    Eventually, continuing their journey, they came upon a small park. A stone path curved through well-kept, blossoming trees. A woman in a short coat sat on a bench, knitting while her daughter drew pictures with charcoal on a nearby canvas without a bother at all. Without any worry... He watched as a pair of old men played a game with polished black and white stones on the other side, occasionally chuckling and arguing over rules of something called ''Sovereign''s Chess...'' whatever that was.

    "I never saw people just doing nothing," one of the warriors grunted, finding the thought unnatural and seeing it as even worse.

    Agreeing, Bakhi raised his head and looked around again. The park was bordered by cafe?s; someone walked by carrying a small box that smelt sweet and gave off warmth, filled with freshly baked food. Yes... he understood it then.

    "This whole city is armored," he murmured to himself. "They are safe and uncontested. They don''t need to be prepared to protect themselves because they have no enemies. So they focus on... leisure." Then he remembered Leon’s words—you are free to explore so long as you follow our laws. "They are guarded by their laws..."

    "That sounds weak... and arrogant."

    "Not when you have flying cities protecting you." Bakhi countered, and everyone fell silent.

    Yes... What they were seeing wasn’t arrogance. It was pure confidence.

    With a shrug, Bakhi sat down on the nearby fountain’s edge and watched a group of teenagers walk past. One of them wore a black coat with some kind of badge shining on the left side of his chest. The others listened to her speak about something... a history lesson? A patrol route? He couldn’t tell. But they spoke with the same focus as his own scouting party did when making their reports.

    "If war came to this place..." one of his guards murmured.

    "Stop." Bakhi raised a hand. "Speak none of it. This place is beyond our comprehension..."

    He thought about writing a report, what to say, and how to explain it, but he did not have the words. He thought only about telling his Kahn that if he wanted to understand their new neighbor, the Kahn himself had to come and visit.

    ...

    ....

    .....

    Inside the palace library, Galahad could move around with his eyes closed, which was handy as his vision was partially blocked. He was currently bringing a handful of books over as Morgan and Fila, and he was hiding here, avoiding every adult possible, not wanting to get wrapped up in any kind of ''responsibility'' as part of the royal family.

    Morgan lay sprawled across a plush sofa, one leg dangling off the edge as she blew a puff of air at a wayward strand of hair that refused to leave her face. But it was just barely enough to alleviate her boredom. Her arms dangled limply over the sides, a book open and unread across her chest, finding it way too dull to pay attention to more than a few pages. Every now and then, she muttered something about boredom, but the other two paid her no mind.

    "This should be all..." Galahad murmured before sitting down, hitting up one of the books while he turned a page perfectly, opening it where he wanted. "The flywheel system you asked about was originally built to reduce rotational kick during cannon fire in the airships."

    "So it stores energy like a spring?" Fila asked from behind another thick tome, her eyes running from left to right, reading before she peeked over the edge of the book like a curious bunny.

    "Not quite," Galahad answered, looking through another book in the process. "It stores kinetic energy in rotational mass. But yes, it''s the same principle. Just faster. A bit more violent."

    "Violent..." Fila hummed, his eyes blinking rapidly, "To penetrate a monster''s reinforced hide, it indeed needs higher velocity... Do you think I could ask him how the friction coils on the mech stabilizers work? Or would that be rude?"

    "You spoke five words with him," Galahad deadpanned, closing his book. "If you could speak as much with him as you are doing with us, then maybe."

    "Four..." Fila muttered, correcting him, returning to her book, suddenly becoming silent, hiding her blush. She was perfectly aware she was not good at opening up to strangers. Yet, with Galahad, she could talk freely because he caught on quickly. And she didn''t need to articulate everything perfectly.

    "Booooring..." Morgan groaned and swung her legs up into the air dramatically before letting them drop with a thud. "By the Gods, can we please stop flirting over mechanical engineering? Don''t get me wrong, Galahad, I am glad you finally found someone you can be yourself..." She sighed, looking at the two, honestly feeling happy for her younger brother, who, before Fila, had no actual friends outside of the family.

    "We are not flirting," Galahad muttered, hiding behind his own book.

    "We aren''t..." Fila agreed as she tilted her head innocently. "Are we?"

    "..."

    "..."

    "Ugh! I''m leaving." Morgan sat up, stretching her arms with a loud yawn, wanting to leave the two alone, and maybe then something would finally happen. "I can''t spend another hour listening to two tiny nerds talk about spark converters and torque distribution. I''m going into the city!"

    "Sis..." Galahad didn''t look up, and he continued hiding his crimson-colored face. "You can''t."

    "Why not?"

    "The Khulmani delegation''s out exploring. Did you already forget? If you run into them, you’ll have to play princess."

    Morgan visibly deflated, slumping back onto the cushions like a punctured airship.

    "Cursed my fate," she hissed. "We’re prisoners in our own palace! Our city!"

    "Voluntary captives," Galahad corrected.

    "House arrest!" Morgan countered, pouting.

    "Um," Fila leaned over, gently nudging Morgan with a book. "You could learn something. Reading is fun... and these are fascinating. Did you know that you have an automatic irrigation system controlled by the exact mechanism that makes giant clocks tick? I heard that my mother paid a good price for it, and now I am starting to understand why."

    "I am not like Dad." Morgan sighed, reaching out and rubbing Fila''s head. "I find it boring... At least... can''t we switch to discussing magic? That part is something I can understand."

    "But Galahad can''t cast spells..." Fila whispered to him, stealing a glance towards his position.

    "Ugh. Fine, fine, I get it..." Morgan grumbled, dragging herself over to the bookshelf and pulling out a thick volume at random. Without looking, she flipped it open upside down and started reading it with the slow, painful pace of someone trying to read a language they didn’t actually know... not that it made any difference.

    "..." Watching, Fila smiled, her voice barely audible. "This is nice, though. Quiet. Warm. Safe. It is how I also like it back home..."

    "It helps me focus, too," Galahad said with a slight nod. "I totally agree."

    Morgan glanced between them, narrowing her eyes once again. She had to acknowledge that watching the two was more fun than reading.

    "You two are going to end up engaged by accident, aren''t you?"

    Hearing her exclaim, Fila blushed and turned into a tomato while Galahad dropped his book on his foot. Then, both of them began explaining how wrong she was.

    "Sure, sure," Morgan just grinned, leaning back again, her smugness restoring her energy. "At least I can feel safe that I won''t need to find a girl for you myself..."