CHAPTER 67: SOMETHING STRANGE HAPPENS HERE

Every time someone opened their mouth to bring Rhys up to speed on something, the words spoken were dire, dull, and irritating.

At times, Rhys had to close his eyes and rub his temples, the pounding headache could have easily brought down anyone not used to stress.

The people around him were lucky he had such self-control, otherwise he’d have already reached his boiling point.

The bad news began with the report sent by Milo. A cold, straightforward document that detailed the scale of the disaster caused by the Rift in the city. After weeks, they finally had a thorough account of the damage.

The number of casualties was not only considerable, but devastating. Dozens of fighters from the Burrow had died on the rooftops, torn apart by the creature’s tentacles. Others were missing among the rubble, and even with rescue brigades, few held hope of finding them alive.

The civilian population hadn’t come out unscathed either: entire families had been buried under the collapses, and the shelters were overflowing with wounded, orphans, and displaced people.

The figures left them vulnerable, with no room for maneuver in defense or attack. They hadn’t only lost lives, they had also lost resources, improvised weaponry, and entire stockpiles of supplies.

Milo had said it plainly: "Rebuilding the city will take years."

The electrical systems had collapsed, aqueducts were contaminated and some reduced to ashes. Even with all the Burrow’s efforts, not even twice as many hands would be enough to raise the city again in less than a decade.

Rhys read each fact as though it were a nail being driven into his skull. While others spoke of numbers, he saw faces. The rebels he had watched fall from the rooftops, the civilians running amid screams, the streets turned into dust and blood.

His jaw tightened, his knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists. He had been there, had seen it all, and yet he was incapable of raising a wall or rescuing the wounded, because he couldn’t, he wouldn’t

, separate from Eun-woo.

The other piece of bad news, and perhaps the most absurd of all, was that Blackwood was organizing a damned gala.

A. Damned. Gala.

Wasn’t he worried about Eun-woo’s escape? Why was he acting as if nothing had happened?

According to Milo, Blackwood hadn’t ordered more patrols to track down Eun-woo, nor had he reinforced security around the city’s perimeter. He hadn’t launched preventive operations or containment measures either.

That sickening carelessness was shattering Rhys’s calm.

First, he had sent Arthur to the glass house, as if completely certain he’d find them there. And afterward, as though it were all some game, he busied himself with organizing stupid, ostentatious parties while his faction’s security remained exactly the same. That excessive confidence was a terrible sign.

Another ’abnormality’ in Blackwood’s behavior was his constant allowing of cars to come in and out of the faction. According to Milo’s reports, these vehicles transported people, but not soldiers or scholars specialized in anything, they were ’normal’ civilians.

’Normal’ in quotation marks because they dressed peculiarly, wearing entirely white clothing, as spotless and simple as cotton. Some wore long white tunics, others with hoods covering their heads.

It was clear they came from another faction and had some kind of deal with Blackwood. What was strange was that even families with small children were being admitted.

Why would Blackwood welcome mere families?

In all the years Rhys had lived under the same roof as that despicable man, he had never seen him open the doors that way. Yes, children and teenagers came and went constantly, but not of their own free will, and certainly not treated as guests.

To Blackwood they had always been disposable toys, never equals. That sudden change in attitude was as bewildering as it was unsettling.

And as if the bad news weren’t enough, Milo also informed them that three small factions had yielded and allowed Blackwood to subjugate them. Since the man only cared about the resources from those areas, it was most likely their inhabitants would end up living in miserable conditions.

The people under Jess’s care had to feel fortunate, greatly so. They had decent housing, three meals a day, clean clothes, and medical service.

The rest of the population, not belonging to the upper class, had absolutely nothing. They were born without even the right to climb socially and died in pitiful conditions.

"How many factions are still standing?" asked Rhys, trying to mask the terrible headache afflicting him.

"Three," Jess replied, picking up some markers to place on the map spread across the table.

The few factions still resisting were too far from Blackwood, and that distance explained why they hadn’t been subdued. Blackwood would never risk so many resources to cross such an expanse of land or water, in the case of the island faction. Most likely those communities didn’t even know Blackwood existed, nor his atrocities.

Rhys studied the markers indicating the newly subjugated factions and frowned.

"This one here," he pointed at the closest marker. "What does Blackwood get from here?"

Jess glanced at a small notebook before replying.

"It was a farming faction, they had fertile land so..."

"And this one?" Rhys cut her off, placing his finger on another marker amid the Xs.

Jess looked back at the notebook.

"They specialized in mining..."

Rhys looked at the farthest marker, the last small faction to fall. He exhaled in exasperation.

"The people in white don’t belong to any of these factions," he declared.

"What do you mean?" Jess asked. "Those people must come from one of the fallen factions, maybe not the recent ones, otherwise how do you explain..."

"Jess," Rhys said firmly. "Have you ever washed a white garment? Or do you own any in your wardrobe?" he questioned.

The woman was caught off guard by the question and didn’t answer.

"You should know white clothes don’t stay that pristine all the time," Rhys continued. "Keeping them that way requires an expensive washing process, one only the upper classes can afford. If those people had come from any of the subdued factions, their garments wouldn’t look so immaculate. Those communities were tied to farming or mining, trades where getting dirty is inevitable."

"And what if they’re the upper-class families of the newly fallen factions?" Jess asked.

"Impossible. One specialized in farming and the other in mining no matter how clean they were, it would be a waste of resources to invest so much in entirely white garments."

Rhys could only think of one possibility, though it was somewhat far-fetched: those people must have come from somewhere nearby, with enough resources to maintain that flawless cleanliness and hygiene, and for some reason, they had dealings with Blackwood. The problem was discovering who they were, what they intended, and above all, where the hell they had come from.

"Now that you mention it..." Jess said, breaking the silence in a calm. "Something strange happened three months ago. It happened when we climbed the mountain to trade with Cael’s people."

Jess’s settlement wasn’t the only one hidden in the forest. There was another, led by Cael, a man few dared to challenge. He never meddled with Jess’s group and, generally, didn’t care about starting a revolution against Blackwood.

His rule was simple: as long as no one invaded his territory or threatened his people, he stayed quiet.

A couple of years ago, both settlements began to trade. Jess’s group offered tools and some food in exchange for medicinal herbs and garments crafted by Cael’s settlement.

Jess told Rhys that the last time they went up to trade, they had found something unusual. Cael’s group only offered a few goods and warned them it would be the last time. When the exchange was over, they didn’t return by their usual path toward their territory, instead, they continued straight north.

When Jess asked why, a man replied that they were searching for a new home. It was strange, considering Cael wasn’t present and the group had been reduced to less than a quarter of its original population: mostly mothers with children, some elderly, and only a few young people.

"’The truth is near,’ Jess said, her voice duller than usual as she stared blankly into nothing, which gave her a grim look. "That was the only thing they said when they passed us by... Since then, we haven’t heard anything from them, not even of Cael’s whereabouts."

"Have you tried locating him?" Rhys asked.

Jess shook her head.

"You know his territory is hard to find, and with my responsibilities here..."

Rhys nodded slowly, understanding that, no matter how much she wanted, Jess couldn’t do much for Cael’s group.

The fallen factions, the people dressed in white, Blackwood’s careless attitude, Cael’s disappearance... It all seemed like scattered fragments of the same puzzle, refusing to take shape.

Rhys frowned and pressed his lips together, wondering if all those things were connected somehow.