Primordial Awakening: I Breathe Skill Points!-Chapter 30: The Northern Bastion. (2)

Chapter 30: The Northern Bastion. (2)
The realization was humbling and terrifying in equal measure.
For three years, Zeph had been the apex predator in his territory. The Ghost. The thing other scavengers warned each other about. Even after losing his transformation, he’d killed two B-rank awakened and felt powerful doing it.
But standing in this line, watching that man with the blank presence casually observe gate traffic, Zeph understood with perfect clarity:
He was still at the bottom of the food chain.
He’d just moved from a small pond to an ocean!
"Next!"
The shout snapped Zeph’s attention back to the present. The line had moved forward while he’d been analyzing threats, and now it was his turn at the checkpoint.
He stepped up to the processing station—a reinforced booth with multiple guards, scanning equipment, and what looked like a System interface terminal built into the desk.
The guard manning the station was young, maybe mid-twenties, with the slightly bored efficiency of someone who’d processed thousands of entries and expected Zeph to be no different from the rest.
Then she looked up at him.
Her eyes went wide.
"Good lord, how tall are you?"
"Six-nine," Zeph said flatly, used to the reaction.
"They feed you giants in the Wildlands or something?" She recovered quickly, professionalism overtaking surprise. "Papers."
Zeph handed over the citizenship documents Marcus had provided. Clean, official, bearing all the right seals and System verifications. The guard scanned them through her terminal, watching data populate across a holographic display he couldn’t quite see from his angle.
"Kai Mercer," she read aloud. "Age sixteen, recently awakened, Level 35, origin Seattle Sanctuary collapse survivor."
Her expression shifted to something more sympathetic.
"Rough couple years, I imagine."
"Yeah." Zeph didn’t elaborate. The fewer details he volunteered, the fewer inconsistencies could catch up with him later.
The guard ran more scans—checking the documents against System records, verifying seals, looking for signs of forgery. Everything came back clean, because Marcus Wei didn’t do things halfway.
"Says here you’re registered for F-District housing in Avalon City, Unit 847." She glanced up at him. "You know how to get there?"
"I’ll figure it out."
"Good. Transit station is straight through the gate—can’t miss it. Trains run to all major cities every thirty minutes." She pulled up a new screen. "I’m going to need a current ID photo and biometric scan for your citizen registry. Standard procedure—we use it for internal tracking, emergency identification, that sort of thing."
Zeph nodded and stepped forward to the scanner array. It was sophisticated tech—multiple angles capturing his face from every direction, spiritual signature being recorded simultaneously, probably even DNA sampling through the air particles he displaced by breathing.
Within seconds, his image appeared on her screen: a tall, gaunt teenager with storm-gray eyes and distinctive silver-streaked black hair staring at the camera with absolutely zero expression.
"Smile next time," the guard said dryly. "Makes the photo less ’wanted criminal’ and more ’citizen.’"
"I’ll try to remember."
She manipulated the interface, finalizing his registry entry, and a small card printer hummed to life beside her desk.
"Alright, Mercer, you’re all set. This is your Citizen ID—don’t lose it. It’s your access credential for basically everything in the Sanctuary. Public transportation, Academy enrollment if you’re interested, dungeon guild registration, merchant district access, the works."
She handed him a card roughly the size of a credit card, made from some material that felt like plastic but hummed with faint System energy.
[NORTHERN BASTION - CITIZEN IDENTIFICATION]
[Name: Kai Mercer
Age: 16
Level: 35
Class: [None]
Status: Citizen (Legal)
District: F-District, Avalon City, Unit 847
Registry Date: [4/4/77]]
His photo stared back at him from the corner—gaunt, hollow-eyed, hood pulled low. He looked exactly like what he was: someone who’d survived by being harder than the things trying to kill him.
Still, he was quite the looker, to be honest. In fact, he was very handsome if he were to say so himself.
"Keep that on you at all times," the guard continued. "Lose it, and you’ll have to go through re-registration at the District Administrative Office, which takes about four days of paperwork and bureaucratic hell. Trust me, you don’t want that."
"Understood."
She gestured toward the gate tunnel. "Welcome back to Northern Bastion, Citizen Mercer. Transit hub is about a kilometer straight ahead once you’re through—follow the crowds, you can’t miss it. Try not to cause trouble."
"No promises."
The guard snorted, and Zeph walked toward the gate.
The tunnel was fifty meters long, wide enough for truck traffic in both directions with pedestrian lanes on either side. The walls were the same reinforced construction as the exterior barrier, but here the formation arrays were even more densely packed, creating overlapping fields of detection that made his skin prickle as he passed through.
Security checkpoints every ten meters. Guards watching with professional alertness. Automated turrets tracking movement from recessed alcoves. The message was clear: You’re being watched. Behave accordingly!’
Zeph kept his head down and his pace steady, just another travel-worn refugee seeking safety. His height made him memorable, but hopefully not suspicious. He was far from the only awakened passing through these gates.
The tunnel opened into daylight.
And Zeph stopped.
He’d expected city. Streets, buildings, the immediate press of urban civilization.
Instead, he found himself standing in what could only be described as a government-controlled gateway district.
The space was vast—easily a square kilometer of carefully organized infrastructure designed to handle the constant flow of people entering the Sanctuary.
Wide boulevards paved with that same faintly glowing stone stretched in orderly grids. Buildings rose on either side, but these weren’t residential or commercial in the normal sense.
They were functional.
Administrative offices with clean signage directing people to registration, housing assignment, emergency services. Medical facilities with the red cross symbol adapted to this world’s aesthetic. Information kiosks staffed by bored-looking officials who answered the same questions a thousand times a day.
And beyond the immediate administrative buildings, the real commerce began.
Hotels.
Dozens of them, ranging from utilitarian concrete blocks advertising "Clean Beds - 50 Credits/Night" to elaborate multi-story establishments with names like "The Adventurer’s Respite" and "Dungeon Delver’s Haven" that promised luxury accommodations for successful hunters returning from expeditions.
Between the hotels, shops of every variety competed for attention. Weapon smiths with massive storefronts displaying everything from basic iron swords to glowing artifacts that hummed with power.
Armor merchants with mannequins wearing full suits of formation-enhanced plate. Potion shops advertising healing draughts, mana restoratives, stamina boosters. General stores selling camping equipment, dungeon survival kits, preserved rations.
And food!
Actual restaurants with actual menus visible through windows, advertising meals that weren’t scavenged rat meat or expired canned goods found in collapsed supermarkets!
Zeph stood at the tunnel’s exit, hood shadowing his face, and felt something crack in the armor he’d built around himself over three years of survival.
’This is real.’
’This isn’t some fantasy I made up to keep myself going. This actually exists.’
The smell hit him then—food cooking, spices and meat and bread baking somewhere nearby. His stomach clenched painfully, reminding him he’d been surviving on half-rations for days and hadn’t had a proper meal in... he couldn’t remember how long.
’Later,’ he told himself firmly, forcing his feet to move forward. ’Get to the apartment first. Then food. Then sleep.’
But he couldn’t help tracking everything as he walked.
The people were different here. Not scrambling refugees fresh from the Wildlands, but professionals.
Adventuring parties in matching gear discussing dungeon strategies over drinks at outdoor cafe tables. Merchants negotiating prices with suppliers. Off-duty guards still in uniform grabbing meals between shifts.
This was the interface between the dangerous world outside and the safe civilization within. The buffer zone where people transitioned from "barely survived" to "normal life."
And it was thriving!
Street vendors called out prices. Children ran between the crowds—actual children, unsupervised, playing without fear. Musicians performed on corners, their instrument cases open for tips. A juggler was doing something with flaming clubs that made passersby stop and applaud.
Normalcy.
Not the desperate, teeth-gritted determination to survive one more day.
Just... normal human life, continuing because people believed tomorrow would come.
Zeph walked through it all like a ghost, his height and hood making people instinctively step aside, giving him clear passage through the crowds. He tracked the signs directing toward the transit hub, following the flow of travelers hauling luggage toward a massive building that dominated the district’s center.
[NORTHERN BASTION CENTRAL TRANSIT HUB]
[Avalon City - Frontier Settlements - Agricultural Districts]
[Departures Every 30 Minutes]
The building was sleek, modern in a way that incorporated both advanced technology and magical infrastructure. Massive windows showed the interior—platforms with waiting trains, information boards displaying schedules in glowing script, crowds moving with organized efficiency.
Zeph stepped through the main entrance and stopped again, just processing.
The interior was enormous. Vaulted ceilings rose thirty meters overhead, supported by pillars that served double duty as mana circulation conduits—he could see the energy flowing through them in faint blue lines. The floor was polished stone that reflected the ambient lighting, creating an almost ethereal glow.
And the trains.
They sat at their platforms like sleeping predators, streamlined forms that looked nothing like the old subway cars he remembered from his previous life’s memories.
These were sleek, aerodynamic vehicles that seemed to float slightly above their rails on cushions of controlled mana. No wheels, no visible engine—just pure magical engineering that made them hover with silent efficiency.
Information boards displayed departure times:
```
PLATFORM 1: Avalon City Center - Departing in 12 minutes
PLATFORM 2: New Geneva Agricultural District - Departing in 18 minutes
PLATFORM 3: Frontier Settlement Alpha - Departing in 25 minutes
PLATFORM 4: Avalon City F-District - Departing in 8 minutes
```
F-District. His destination.
Zeph made his way through the crowds toward Platform 4, following the clearly marked signs. The transit hub was designed for maximum efficiency—everything labeled, everything organized, crowds flowing in predictable patterns that prevented congestion.
At the platform entrance, a turnstile scanned his citizen ID as he passed through. A soft chime confirmed his access, and he stepped onto the platform itself.
Chime!
The train waiting there was larger up close than it had seemed from the entrance. Smooth metallic surface that might have been steel but probably wasn’t, windows that appeared to be one-way from the outside, doors that slid open with pneumatic precision.
Zeph boarded and found a seat near the back, as far from other passengers as possible. Old habits. Always know your exits, always have your back covered, always maintain distance from potential threats.
The interior was clean. Not "relatively clean for public transportation" but actually, genuinely spotless. Comfortable seats with built-in cushioning that adjusted to his frame when he sat down. Climate control that immediately cooled his overheated skin. Ambient lighting that was soft enough not to strain his eyes after days of harsh sunlight.
More passengers filed in—workers heading home after shifts at the gate district, a few adventurers with equipment cases, some families with children who were excited about the train ride.
Normal people doing normal things.
Zeph pulled his hood lower and leaned his head against the window, watching the platform through the one-way glass.
A synthesized voice echoed through the cabin: "Departure in sixty seconds. Please secure all belongings and remain seated during transit. Estimated travel time to Avalon City F-District: eighteen minutes."
Eighteen minutes.
The distance that had taken him three days of hard travel to cross from the Wildlands to the walls would take eighteen minutes by train to traverse from the walls to the city itself.
’That’s how big this place is,’ Zeph realized. ’Thousands of kilometers of farmland just to feed the population. And this is only one of seven Sanctuaries.’
’Humanity didn’t just survive the Descent. They rebuilt on a scale that’s almost incomprehensible.’
Hiss!
The doors sealed with a soft hiss. The train began to move—not with the lurch and rattle of mechanical systems, but with smooth, silent acceleration that pressed him gently back into his seat.
Through the window, the gate district started to slip past, slowly at first and then faster. Buildings blurred. The platform disappeared. The tunnel walls that enclosed the first section of track rushed by in streaks of light.
Then they emerged into open space, and Zeph’s breath caught despite himself.