Chapter 633: Benjamin Doesn't Like Lot

Benjamin slowed, head tipping back toward the washed-out sky above the valley.

“Ah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “There WAS a barrier hiding here.”

Lines of force, woven together like threads, so fine and so deliberate that they had simply blended into the background of the world.

“I had better be careful now. If the rat really is here, they are competent enough to sniff me out the second I grow careless.”

Erica glanced at him, then at the air above their heads as though she might see what he saw.

Her expression tightened. She had already noticed the change in him — the way the already-small aura he usually possessed had folded itself into deeper, quieter layers, vanishing almost completely beneath the surface of his skin.

“It truly baffles me, Benjamin,” she said as they began the downward path into Lot. “How you can put so much power locked up like that. Where do you store it? It is not simply suppressed. It is… gone. Hidden so thoroughly I can barely feel the edges of it anymore.”

Buildings appeared in the distance, crouched along the steep floor of the valley below them — low roofs, crooked chimneys, the whole district looking as though it had been poured downhill and left to settle wherever gravity allowed.

The road under their feet grew steeper, the dirt giving way in places to broken stone.

Benjamin glanced sideways at her.

His gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary. The short green hair that never quite stayed in place, the clear green eyes, the dark green tunic and deep brown pants tucked into practical boots.

Lean, efficient, with the kind of figure that could pass for a younger brother in the right light.

[She really looks boyish when you’re being careless] he thought, [But I wonder… why did those bandits comment on a beautiful woman alone with a man? Erica is cute, yes, but boyishly so. Did they somehow realize she was a girl the moment they looked closer?]

He looked away from her face and back toward the path descending into the valley. [And yes, I’m ignoring the part where they might have thought I was the woman walking alone with a man.]

“Oh, that?” he said at last. “Sys is the one who does that kind of thing.”

His voice stayed even, casual.

“I have a lot of abilities. She is probably doing some kind of quiet math in the background, figuring out exactly how much to restrain and how much to leave free so I do not light up every sensitive nose in a ten-mile radius.”

Erica’s interest sharpened at once. “Who is Sys? You’ve mentioned her before, more than once.”

Benjamin felt the slip the moment the name left Erica’s mouth.

The helpful presence that lived inside the vessel of his body was not something he advertised, so he kept his expression mild, almost bored.

“Uh…” He scratched the side of his neck, buying half a second. “She is my manager. That is the simplest way to put it. But no one really knows who she is or where she stays, so do not bother asking people close to me. They will only shrug. Sys also prefers it that way.”

“Of course, I won’t tell anyone,” Erica said it with a furrowed brow, pressing one hand flat against her chest. “I mean, it took me almost a hundred years to sort out my own imaginary friend — years of quiet work, of learning when to listen and when to set boundaries — but that does not mean you have to do the same thing for anyone else’s benefit. Your business stays your business. I will not speak of it.”

“…”

Benjamin stared at her for a long moment without answering.

[Eh? Did something weird just happen now?] The thought surfaced slowly. [Somehow Sys became an imaginary friend.]

***

Inside Lot, the architecture was not too different from the rest of Thaad.

The same general shapes of buildings, the same basic materials of stone and timber, and the same narrow lanes that twisted between them.

But the resemblance stopped at the surface.

Slums were not a rarity here; they were the rule rather than the exception.

Roofs sagged in places, the wood warped and tired. Walls showed long cracks that had been patched with mismatched boards or left open to the weather.

Some shutters hung crooked or were missing entirely, leaving dark rectangles where windows should have been.

Maintenance was clearly something that happened only when it could no longer be avoided, and even then it was done with whatever scraps happened to be available.

Crowds were rare, and loudness was rarer still.

Instead of the constant press of bodies and voices that filled the higher districts, Lot offered only scattered clusters of people — small groups standing in doorways, a few figures seated on low steps, an occasional walker moving from one building to another with the careful, unhurried pace of someone who preferred not to draw attention.

Most of them kept their heads down and their conversations short. They minded their own business with a thoroughness that bordered on deliberate isolation.

Eyes flicked toward Benjamin and Erica as they passed, then flicked away again. No one stared openly, but the message was clear: keep moving, keep quiet, keep to yourself.

Benjamin did not like it.

The entire district felt like a system designed to punish carelessness.

A single wrong word, or a question asked too directly, and trouble could arrive faster than a person could step back from it.

The quiet itself was part of the danger; it made every unusual sound stand out, every unfamiliar face a potential problem.

He kept his own presence small and his eyes moving, noting exits and corners the way someone might note the location of deep water while walking along a narrow bridge.

They followed the main lane downward until the sound of raised voices and the clink of pottery reached them.

Ahead stood a particular tavern, the loudest place they had encountered since entering the gloomy stretch of the city.

Aaron Palmer, Carl Trusaik, thanks for your support and engagement ❤️