Requiem of the Forgotten

The air inside the large hall of Seetown was thick with the smell of fish and damp wood, a reminder that this place had been built in a hurry, just like everything else in this world. The ceiling beams creaked under the weight of the wind coming from the lake, and dim lanterns flickered, casting uneven shadows on the rough wooden walls. The gathered crowd was tense but controlled—leaders from different settlements, each carrying the weight of their people's survival.

I adjusted my stance, glancing at Carmen, who was standing beside me with arms crossed, scanning the room with sharp eyes. She was clearly taking this whole 'leader' thing more seriously than she let on. Still, I could see the flicker of nervousness in her posture, the slight tightening of her jaw as we stood before the other city leaders.

A broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and dark brown skin stepped forward first, offering a firm handshake. "Viktor Petrov," he said in a heavy Russian accent. "Leader of Gynsk. We were from Moscow before all of this." His grip was solid, his expression unreadable. "Your city—Dragontown, yes? I hear you've made quite a name for yourselves."

Carmen nodded, shaking his hand. "Carmen Varela, acting leader of Dragontown. And yeah, we've been doing what we can."

Next, a middle-aged man with graying hair, sharp eyes, and a military stance extended his hand. "Elias McKenna, head of Seetown. Before all of this, I was a naval officer from the U.S." His handshake was quick and efficient. "We've managed to maintain some order here, but food supplies are tight. The lake has saved us, but fishing alone won't sustain us forever."

A woman stepped forward next, her presence quiet but commanding. She had deep brown skin and long, braided hair that fell over her shoulders. Her clothing, though simple, carried an air of dignity. "Naima Bakari," she introduced herself. "I lead Delunia. We have been focusing on agriculture. If our crops survive, we might have enough to trade in the coming months. We were from Kenya before this."

Carmen exchanged handshakes with each of them, introducing herself properly as she went. There was no fanfare, no overly formal nonsense—just names, backgrounds, and an unspoken understanding that each of them was struggling to keep people alive.

As the introductions finished, I noticed Nikita standing nearby, arms crossed, watching the exchange with a hint of amusement.

"So, Nikita," I said, raising an eyebrow, "how the hell did you end up here, of all places?"

He smirked. "Turns out I'm good at keeping people alive. Seetown needed structure, and I had experience organizing supply lines and defense teams. Now, I'm one of McKenna's right-hand men. General, in a way."

Carmen tilted her head. "So you finally found a place where people actually listen to you?"

Nikita chuckled. "Something like that."

The tension in the room settled slightly. We weren't just leaders talking politics—we were survivors trying to figure out what came next. And soon, we'd be leaving for Topolin to face an even bigger challenge.

We left Seetown at sunrise.

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and lake water as we rode out of the settlement. The sky stretched vast and endless above us, pale blue with streaks of orange from the rising sun. The landscape ahead was different from what we'd seen before—rolling plains that stretched far, covered in golden grass swaying with the wind. It felt untouched, endless, like a world waiting to be claimed.

"Feels weird leaving a place we just got to," Carmen muttered, adjusting the reins of her horse.

"You'll get used to it," Nikita replied. "We're all wanderers in this world now."

I turned in my saddle, looking back at Seetown one last time. The settlement looked so small from here—just a collection of wooden buildings huddled near the shore of the great lake, dwarfed by the water's vastness. It was strange, knowing that this place hadn't even existed two months ago, yet now it was a home to thousands.

We rode southward.

The roads, if they could even be called that, were uneven and barely marked. Sometimes we followed old hunting trails left by those who had passed before us. Other times, we simply navigated by sight, using the landscape as our only guide. The continent wasn't vast, not like Earth, but it was still large enough to feel empty—like a canvas where life was just beginning to paint itself.

I let my mind wander as we moved.

The plains soon gave way to thick forests, dense with trees I couldn't name. They weren't quite like Earth's forests—some had bark that shimmered in the sunlight, others bore fruit with colors too vivid to be real. Birds fluttered between the branches, their calls unfamiliar, alien. Every so often, I caught movement in the undergrowth—small creatures, quick and quiet, disappearing before I could get a good look.

It was beautiful. Strange. A reminder that this world wasn't ours.

"This place really is something else," Daisuke murmured, his gaze flickering to the treetops. "It feels… too untouched. Like it's been waiting for something."

"Waiting for us?" Amina asked, half-smirking.

"Or something worse," I muttered.

The journey took most of the day. We stopped briefly to rest and eat, sharing what little rations we carried. The further south we rode, the warmer the air became, though it was never uncomfortably hot. It felt different from Earth's heat—lighter, less oppressive. Like the air itself carried a different balance of life.

By late afternoon, the forests began to thin, and we saw the first signs of civilization ahead.

Topolin.

Even from a distance, I could tell it was different from Dragontown or Seetown. The buildings were sturdier, taller, made of smooth stone rather than rough wood. The city spread along the banks of a winding river, its waters reflecting the last light of day. Unlike our settlements, which had sprung up in chaos and necessity, this place had been built with purpose. It had structure.

I heard Carmen whistle under her breath. "Okay. Gotta admit, that looks… kinda impressive."

"It should be," Nikita said. "Topolin was the first settlement to establish order. Lydia made sure of that."

I adjusted my grip on the reins, scanning the walls ahead. Guards stood at the entrance, not just humans, but elves and dwarves too. The gates were open, though—welcoming, not defensive.

As we approached, I felt a strange weight settle in my chest. This wasn't just another stop. This was the place where everything would be decided. Where leaders from all over the continent would gather to plan for the future. And where, whether I liked it or not, I'd have to be part of that discussion.

We passed through the gates without issue, making our way into the city. The streets were wider than Dragontown's, lined with stalls and shops, people moving with purpose. It was more organized, more alive. Yet despite its relative advancement, it was still a city born from survival. Everything here had been built from the ground up, just like us.

As we reached the central square, a familiar figure stepped forward from the crowd.

Lydia.

Her presence was unmistakable—tall, composed, with that ever-watchful gaze that made it feel like she already knew why we were here before we said a word.

"You made it," she said simply.

Carmen swung off her horse, stretching her legs. "You didn't think we'd miss the biggest political gathering in history, did you?"

Lydia smiled faintly, then turned her gaze to me. "And you, young men? I assume you've been enjoying your newfound responsibilities?"

I exhaled through my nose. "Let's just say I'm here because I have to be."

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Then let's get to work."