WHEN NERO AND company reached the imposing stone walls and towering aether gate of Breeston City—hence called “Breeston Gate”—a distraught crowd welcomed them.

Four soldiers were on the entrance of the gate, scrutinizing everyone and everything they were carrying. Many had something to say, to complain about, but none dared to do so. The soldiers wore fitted leather armors, and a helmet with tuft of red plumage, indicating they were of the Empire—they were imperial soldiers. Of course, no one would dare go against them.

But, why were they here?

He asked around about what was happening, but no one really knew why.

(Some speculations he heard: the Emperor might be sick, or that a very dangerous criminal might be on the loose, or the Hero—infamous for being a drunkard and womanizer—might have succumbed through too much pleasure, and so criminals and monsters and demons alike might take advantage of his absence.)

Instead, he learned that this was also happening on the other end of the gate (he asked several individuals that successfully passed through the gate from Breeston), and apparently was happening only to the gates leading to and coming from Breeston City. And it was happening for a couple of days now, probably just after he returned to Siedsy Town.

Unrest was hovering on stuck crowd, and it wasn’t helping that when they asked the soldiers what was happening, all they got was it’s, “[a] direct command from his majesty the Emperor.”

There was no line whatsoever, and the Siedsy police officer—who was the original and the previous gatekeeper of the gate—was shouting the names of the individuals the imperial soldiers were to check next before letting them pass through. Nero asked around where he should write down his name for the police officer to call him, and they pointed him towards a red tent near the entrance. So, he went there.

Inside the tent were several lamps hanging around, lighting up the place well. There were three imperial soldiers here, two of which was behind and chatting about, while only one was on the table near the entrance.

“Hi, sir,” he greeted the soldier manning the table.

The soldier smiled back. “Hi, young sir. Such an odd flocom you have there… Ah, please, keep your dog out; pets aren’t allowed in this tent.” The young healer did as he was told, then returned to the soldier. Then the soldier asked, “What can I do for you?”

“I’m going to Breeston,” he said, “and I was told I need to register here.”

“Yes, yes. Here.” The soldier then gave him a sheet of paper and a quill; the paper was asking for his full name, his profession, and his purpose for passing through the gate.

While he was writing down the information, the soldier asked him, “What should we call you? You know, when it’s your turn to pass through.”

“’Nero’. Just call me ‘Nero’.”

“’Nero’…hmm, I think there’s someone already named like that.” The soldier pondered for a little bit. “No, just tell me your whole name.”

“’Nero de Silva’,” he said. “That’s my full name. Here.” At that point he finished writing down his information, and showed what he had written to the soldier, pointing his name.

“Oh. What beautiful penmanship. Hmm. You’re not a scribe, but…a healer?” The soldier looked at him—sized him up. “Really now…”

But the soldier didn’t ask anything anymore, and just told him that he will give the nametag—along with a number—to the police officer that calls the names. He was given a copy of what the soldier had written down on the same-looking slip of paper.

Written there was:

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No. 189: Nero de Silva.

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He thanked the soldier and went out.

Exiting the tent, he heard the officer near the gate calling a new name: “No. 97: Blake Spear! Blake Spear! No. 97!”

No. 97? he thought. Well. This will be a long queue.

Nero reckoned he might only be able to enter the gate after a couple of days or so; he realized he had to set up a tent while waiting for his turn, lest he’d walk back and forth from here to the town-proper. Fortunately, someone approached him—a tent-merchant—and offered a tent. He bought a simple one, as he only needed a shade (he had a sleeping bag). After paying 500 Pirasos worth of gold and silver coins, the merchant phlegmatically went on.

He walked for a while, and on the way bought his and Rius’ lunch, and chose to set-up a tent under the shade of a small tree, on a slightly elevated mound. With Lion’s help he put up his tent. Then he spent the time lying down with his sleeping bag as his pillow, talking with the flocom about random things and playing with Rius, even napping sometimes.

Soon, it was night. The warm and calm summer night-breeze was flowing into his tent.

And as he was about to drift to sleep, an explosion not too far disrupted him—it took him out of his wits, remembering the explosion he experienced back when he was at the cliff. Then, following were cries and upheavals of the crowd.