Astrals: The Fallen Spirits

The journey to the Highlands was far less grand than Zen had expected.

No mystical floating platforms. No glowing stairways to heaven.

Just endless, exhausting stairs.

Even Muki, the little white-eyed traitor, looked completely unbothered. She perched tall on Zen's shoulder, surveying their surroundings like a tiny, furry empress.

Zen sighed, adjusting his grip on the contract.

"Do you ever think about your family, Muki?" he asked, his voice a little breathless.

Muki yawned.

Zen rolled his eyes. "Guess not."

They continued the climb. Every few thousand steps, they reached rest areas—flat platforms where workers and travelers gathered. Some sat on stone benches, eating simple meals. Others simply collapsed from exhaustion before forcing themselves back to their journey.

Zen was tempted to stop.

But he kept moving.

After five grueling hours, the sun had begun to set, staining the sky in shades of orange and violet.

And finally, he reached Ingara—the first Highland.

Zen stopped to catch his breath, his legs burning.

Before him stood a massive boundary wall, towering and imposing. At its center loomed a 15-foot iron gate, its surface carved with intricate patterns. The metal glowed faintly under the dimming sunlight, a silent reminder of the power that guarded this place.

Two guards stood at the entrance.

They were tall, broad, and completely unreadable, dressed in dark blue armor with silver accents. Their weapons were strapped across their backs—long halberds, their blades gleaming wickedly.

Zen swallowed.

This was it. The first real challenge.

If he couldn't get past these guards…

Then all that walking was for nothing.

Zen walked toward the wooden shed, nearly identical to the one at the base of the stairs. A middle-aged man sat inside, his face weathered from years of work.

Zen handed over the contract, shifting on his feet as the man eyed him from head to toe.

Then, he laughed.

"First time, eh?" he said, his accent strange and thick. "Oughta be tired."

Zen blinked. What a weird way of speaking.

"Ye-yeahh," he replied, hesitating.

The man smirked and reached for a small iron bell hanging near him. With a swift motion, he rang it once.

CLANG.

A low metallic echo rippled through the air.

One of the guards at the massive gate stirred, stepping forward to pull open a small door built into the much larger one.

Zen felt his heart pound.

This is it.

A new life. A step into a new world.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked through.

And the moment he stepped inside—

He froze.

His breath hitched.

Holy shit.

The city of Ingara was beyond anything he had ever imagined.

Red-bricked buildings lined the streets, their walls polished to perfection. Golden accents decorated every surface, catching the fading sunlight and bathing the entire city in a warm glow.

It was pristine. Elegant.

The blacksmithing district was a realm of fire and steel, where smoke curled from chimneys, and the air reeked of burning coal and molten metal. The streets echoed with the ring of hammers striking red-hot iron, while apprentices hurried with buckets of water and crates of raw ore. Forges lined the streets, some humble and family-run, others grand workshops crafting weapons fit for Astral Knights.

Ingara seemed majestic and completely out of place for someone like him.

No wonder lowlanders never tried to climb up here.

It wasn't just about the guards. Or the rules.

It was this.

This overwhelming difference.

The Highlands had always been spoken about in whispers—untouchable, unreachable.

And now, standing here, Zen understood why.

Lowlanders were born as farmers and servants.

This was a place for those who ruled.

Zen made a mental list:

Fresh clothes.

A good bath.

Some directions.

Money.

That last one made him pause.

To do all of this, I'd need money...

A tiny detail he had conveniently ignored until now. With a sigh, he stood there, staring at the grandeur of Ingara, feeling very much like a stray dog that had somehow wandered into a noble's banquet. Muki, perched on his shoulder, flicked her tail, unimpressed.

Meanwhile, at the base of the stairs, a storm was brewing.

A sharp smack echoed through the shed as the Knight's hand connected with the man's face. The poor worker barely had time to flinch before the next wave of fury hit him.

"HOW DARE YOU?!" the Knight roared, his voice shaking the very walls. "HOW CAN YOU BE FOOLED BY A LITTLE BOY?!"

The man stammered, rubbing his cheek. "B-but, sir, he described you so well—I thought—"

"You thought?" The Knight let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do you ever think?" He took a deep breath, then shook his head. "Forget it. Since it's just a boy, I won't report this. But let this never happen again."

With a sharp snap of his fingers, his cart was summoned. The two Hoks—massive jet-black birds with curling horns—stamped their clawed feet impatiently, waiting for the command.

The Knight climbed onto the cart, his cloak billowing dramatically behind him as the Hoks took off, soaring toward the gates of Ingara.

Zen, completely unaware of the storm heading his way, was still staring at the city, lost in thought.

His grand entrance into the Highlands had been a success.

For now.