Hadjar stepped onto a path of the Wind and soon found himself on the road leading to the massive gate. He and Helmer stood on the other side of a wide moat, across which stretched a broad bridge of... shimmering energy. It was as if someone had captured a shimmering rainbow and had then placed it at the service of mankind forever.

And it wasn’t just them standing there.

A line of people stretched out toward the gate. Some were riding on rather simple and stereotypical carts, while others were on horses and other similar mounts. There were even some people on clouds, flying carpets, something resembling brooms, and most remarkably, not all of them were human.

Admittedly, the vast majority of those in line were human. Among them, however, the General also noticed a humanoid with an animal head that looked like a cross between a tiger and a lion; something resembling a giant grasshopper clad in armor and carrying an axe on its back; a bird that seemed to parody the humanoid form; and then... a cloud. Yes, a real cloud, dressed in cloudy clothes and carrying cloudy weapons.

One could only hope that it was a disguise. Otherwise, they would have to accept that even clouds could cultivate in the Nameless World. And that was just too much.

“Emblem?” Inquired a stocky man who was a little older than middle-aged, clad in green armor that seemed rather heavy and minimalistic in design. Emblazoned on his breastplate, and on the armor of his smaller companions as well, was the image of a mountain and a rising sun.

The animal-faced creature extended his hand, and the emblem Hadjar had seen before, given by Gambatta to the young adept girl, glowed across his palm, with an additional hieroglyph shining in the center.

“Ninth rank,” the guard nodded, and one of his assistants (there was no doubt that the head guard was conducting the interrogation) agreed. “No noble house... One shard for every day you spend in the third region. Ten in advance.”

“Ten shards?” Exclaimed the beastman, or whatever they were called here, in astonishment. “Just six centuries ago, the advance was only eight shards!”

“As you rightly pointed out, that was six centuries ago,” the guard shrugged. “Things have changed since then. Are you paying? If not, please don’t hold up the line. You’re not the only one who wants to attend the festival.”

The creature hissed something, perhaps a noise of resentment, or perhaps something in his own, foreign language. Either way, he produced something from his pocket that resembled coins. They were not metal or precious stones, however, but rather... fragments of space. Hadjar even thought he saw miniature stars and the outlines of galaxies in them.

As with the cloud, one could only hope that this was merely a magical illusion or effect.

Hadjar glanced down at his shoulder, where the lump of fear had been a moment ago, but was now gone. Helmer must have gone about his demonic business in his own peculiar way.

Hadjar shook his head and continued to watch. Remarkably, given the casual way in which they spoke of events from a little more than half a millennium ago, it almost felt as if they were discussing mere days instead of centuries:

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“Six days ago, the advance was eight coins!”

“And now it’s ten!”

That sort of exchange sounded far more reasonable, even to someone on the verge of his seventh century.

The beastman paid the guards and crossed the shimmering bridge with the same ease as if he were crossing solid ground instead of an energy field.

After the beastman came an elderly man in a cart. According to the stories he’d heard from the Immortal’s Shadow in Balium, Immortals took their final form during the trial of the Heavens and the Earth. Unlike the Mortal Realm, where cultivators could assume practically any appearance they wished (at least in terms of age), the Land of the Immortals was far more honest and straightforward in this regard.

“What’s in the cart?” the guard inquired, checking his emblem and identifying the merchant (Hadjar would have recognized a merchant even while blindfolded) as ‘homeless.’

“It’s an order for the House of Hattanhat,” the old man replied. “Flowers from Elathra, some stones from Mount Drag, and...”

Finally, after a few minutes of carefully inspecting the wagon, the guards let the old man through and charged him for the cart as well. All the while, Hadjar wondered why no one here was using spatial artifacts. The funny thing was that the General couldn’t use them now, either, because he was cut off from the energy of the World River. But the Immortals weren’t, right? So why were they doing things the hard way?

“Hey, you,” the head of the guards suddenly pointed at Hadjar. “I’ve never seen you here before. Are you new to the Immortal Lands?”

The General stood still for a few moments, hoping he was mistaken and it wasn’t really him they were talking to.

“Hey, you in the blue coat!” The guard shouted more insistently, killing his last glimmer of hope. “Am I not making myself clear?” And with that, he pulled back the hem of his green cloak, revealing a broadsword at his belt.

Hadjar exhaled tiredly. In hindsight, considering his luck, maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to go on a reconnaissance mission so close to the gate. But then again, what other options did he have?

“Yes, oh Wise One,” the General replied with a slight bow. “You are quite right and-”

He was interrupted by the laughter of the head guard, which was echoed by his subordinates and some of the others in line. Hadjar flinched for a moment when he saw the laughing cloud. By the High Heavens and the Evening Stars both, he dearly hoped that was a disguise rather than a real cloud.

“Wise One?” The guard raised his visor and wiped away his tears. “Do I really look so much like a member of the Houses? Eternity, what nonsense is being drummed into the heads of mortals these days… You address a mere vagrant as you would a great one.”

Hadjar remained silent. The Shadow of the Immortal had not mentioned such nuances when talking about the forms of address and greetings between the Immortals. Upon further reflection, he realized he should’ve also asked more questions about the House of Blade Fury... Maybe he should mention them now?

“That would not be a very bright idea, my young acquaintance,” came a light whisper.

Hadjar turned abruptly to face the person he’d least expected to see here. In his right hand, the speaker held a staff with a round, golden ball at the top, the base of which touched the stones of the road lightly, emitting golden, sandy sparks. His gold and red caftan fluttered lightly in the wind. A simple turban covered the gray hair on his head. His bronze skin could not hide his deep wrinkles, and his clear eyes looked at Hadjar with slight surprise and also a lot of recognition and respect.

“Just a moment ago, when we first met, it seemed like you weren’t even a proper cultivator yet, and now...” Harlim stared at Hadjar. Yes, that was the name of this Immortal — Harlim of the House of the Golden Sky. An Immortal Hadjar had met nearly six centuries ago in the Sea of Sand. He had been hunting a dragon and had spoken of the Laws, saying that the Mage City Hadjar was seeking would not further his understanding of them. Who would have thought that those words, the meaning of which had been so unclear to the General at the time, would become very pertinent to him centuries later?

“...and now...” Harlim stretched. “Things have gotten really weird...”

After hearing that, Hadjar was certain that the old desert native had already realized that a mortal was standing before him.