Chapter 45: Ch45 – Lithara

Ryan squinted at the distant silhouette as they rode closer. The shape that had, at first, seemed overwhelming was now… completely and utterly overwhelming.

Its imposing walls were taller than any Ryan had seen on Earth. Maybe 30 or 35 meters tall. But he couldn’t tell accurately from the distance.

The road they travelled forked, one going north, one east into the town, and one that bent gently southward, skirting the settlement rather than leading straight into it.

They followed the gentle southward road that passed along its outer edge instead of entering. The closer they came, the clearer it became why.

Crowds.

Endless lines of carts, travellers on foot, merchants calling out prices, guards shouting instructions. One of the many main gates of the great town that was choked with traffic, a constant press of people trying to move in and out.

“We’re going around?” Ryan asked, glancing sideways at Micah.

Micah nodded, adjusting his grip on the reins. “That town is always packed. Slows everything to a crawl inside. No point going through when there’s a road around it.”

Ryan watched the walls slide past on their left. “Why are these walls so huge?”

“They are,” Micah said. “They were built when the world was… harsher. Hordes of monsters used to roam much closer to human lands. Including very large monsters. The kind that could flatten villages.”

Ryan frowned. “So they are unnecessary now?”

“At this point, yes,” Micah agreed. “But they also protected against other Human kingdoms, back before the war with the other races began.” He glanced ahead. “That stuff doesn’t really happen anymore. Humans are far more unified than they used to be.”

They rode on.

Time blurred as the road stretched endlessly ahead. The great town fell behind them, replaced by wide farmland and scattered homesteads. Stone fences bordered fields of grain. Windmills turned lazily in the distance. Small villages appeared now and then, little more than clusters of houses gathered around wells or crossroads.

The further east they travelled, the more signs of clustered population appeared. Farms grew closer together. Roads branched off more frequently. Smoke rose in steady columns from chimneys far off the path.

Then the land rose again.

Ryan leaned forward slightly, following Micah’s gaze.

Something enormous dominated the horizon.

At first, his mind thought it might be another mountain.

Walls rose like cliffs, dwarfing everything around them. Not just tall, but impossibly thick, layered stone were stacked upon stone. Towers punctuated the length of it, each one large enough to be a fortress on its own.

And outside those walls…

Houses. Streets. Markets. Entire districts sprawled outward in every direction. Not slums, not shanties. Proper homes, roads, infrastructure laid out carefully. The city had outgrown its own walls long ago.

“That’s…” Ryan trailed off.

Micah laughed softly. “Yes. That’s Lithara.”

Ryan stared.

Stupidly large didn’t even begin to cover it.

“How many people?” Ryan asked.

Micah shrugged. “I think the most recent estimate was more than six million.”

The land itself seemed to bend inward toward the capital, roads converging like veins leading to a heart. Ryan’s chest felt tight thinking of the logistics required.

They rode into the outer districts, passing workshops, warehouses, inns, and densely packed homes. People moved with purpose here, merchants shouting orders, workers hauling goods, children darting through narrow streets. It didn’t seem like a poor area, but it wasn’t particularly luxurious either.

The walls loomed closer with every step.

At the gate, the traffic thickened, but it moved with shocking efficiency. The entrance itself was massive, wide enough for eight lanes of traffic. Guards directed flow constantly, waving carts forward, stopping others, inspecting documents with practiced speed.

There was security everywhere.

Ryan watched as travellers ahead passed through checks, guards scanning papers, asking brief questions, letting them through without much delay.

Before long it was their turn Myna rode forward.

The guards maintaining their lane straightened instantly at the sight of her armour.

A brief salute.

Myna presented her badge.

“Welcome to Lithara, Captain,” one of the guards said, waving them through.

They rode in, passing under a massive, half-risen metal gate that could’ve been forged by Gods.

They emerged through the gate and into Lithara. The scale of the city pressed in on them immediately. The streets, excluding the main road that they travelled on, narrowed sharply, winding between towering buildings of rough-hewn stone and timber. The architecture was impressive, but not delicate and quite crude in places, patched and rebuilt as need demanded. Some walls leaned slightly, sagging under their own weight, while others bore repairs that looked barely finished, jutting timbers and splintered stone giving the streets a haphazard, chaotic feel.

Alleyways cut between the buildings some as thin as a child’s shoulder length, twisting in unpredictable directions.

There was a smell of smoke, animal, and waste. The smell clung to every cobblestone.

The clatter of carts rolling over uneven streets mixed with shouting vendors hawking goods, the squeal of pigs in pens, and the occasional clang of a hammer from a nearby forge.

Buildings were stacked high, often three or four stories, with wooden balconies and overhanging eaves that nearly touched across the street, creating narrow shafts of shadow even in full morning sun. Laundry flapped in the breeze from ropes tied between balconies. Smoke curled from chimneys of varying sizes, some clean, some dark with soot, curling into the sky above.

The streets teemed with people. Merchants carried baskets of produce; children darted between legs, giggling or shouting, and in some cases, stealing; labourers hauled sacks of grain and timber.

There were no grand mansions yet, only crowded thoroughfares lined with shops, taverns, and workshops. Signs hung from hooks, some painted or carved, advertising everything from bladesmiths to florists, a cacophony of colour and movement.

As they rode on, the city revealed its layers like an onion.

Courtyards appeared behind rickety gates, small gardens squeezed between buildings, and hidden fountains tucked into recesses where water pooled in green-stained stone basins. Occasional statues, eroded and blackened by time, depicted noblemen long gone or legends of old wars, standing silent in the midst of the constant orderly chaos around them.

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