Chapter 139
Appointment
You were allowed to leave the academy premises as long as you had a legitimate reason to leave and returned within a reasonable time. The rules were quite strict—if you did not come back after a maximum of a month, you would be expelled, unless there were special circumstances. It was one of those rules that hung like a quiet threat in the background of everyone's life at Hope Academy.
IAM's request had been an easy one to approve. He only needed a few hours, and the academy administration was well aware of his situation. The paperwork was done in less than a minute. In fact, the instructor who signed off on his leave barely glanced up from their desk before waving him through.
Yohan, Reuel, and Henry had all insisted—almost in chorus—that they come with him. Their reasoning varied. Yohan claimed it was "good for the soul" to leave the campus every now and then. Reuel made it sound like a matter of personal curiosity, leaning against the wall with a sly smirk as he mentioned how interesting it would be to see where IAM went. Henry, less insistent than the other two, simply said he "wasn't busy".
But IAM turned them down. Not out of shame or because of secrecy—at least not in the usual sense—but because, if he was being honest, he'd rather spend the day training inside the academy than sit through another therapy appointment. And, more importantly, he had no plans to linger in the city afterward. His plan was simple: go, talk, return. If he let the others tag along, they'd get distracted. Maybe they'd end up in some café or poking around the market stalls, and before they knew it, the day would be gone.
So IAM went alone.
The moment he passed through the academy gates and began walking through the Higher Sector, his surroundings shifted in tone and texture. The Higher Sector was a showcase of everything wealth and stability could produce—pristine streets lined with trees trimmed into perfect shapes, storefronts displaying goods behind spotless glass, small manicured parks with trimmed hedges and fountains that sent thin curtains of water tumbling into marble basins.
Children in neatly pressed clothes darted across playgrounds. A street musician leaned lazily against a bench, coaxing soft notes from a flute. The smells of fresh bread, brewed coffee, and faint floral perfume drifted together in the summer air.
And always, always—no matter where you looked—the Wall was there.
It loomed impossibly far in the distance, so far that its top seemed blurred by haze, yet still unmistakable. A solid band of grey that wrapped the world. IAM could never fully get used to it. The sight was always a shock on his mind, it felt like looking at a puzzle you weren't supposed to solve but couldn't stop thinking about.
It was absurd. An entire country enclosed. And yet inside those walls were all the things you'd expect—open stretches of grass, fields rippling with crops, lonely hills where the wind swept unhindered. There were forests, and even beaches where water met sand in slow waves. It was exactly like any other country from earth.
But all of it existed inside a boundary.
IAM's mind began to turn the idea over and over like a stone in his palm, trying to catch a glint of understanding in its shifting angles.
Even with the strength and abilities of ascenders, the creation of such colossal walls was beyond comprehension. Their sheer scale alone defied every known method of construction. This was no natural formation—of that IAM was certain—especially when considering the massive, meticulously crafted gates positioned at the east, west, north, and south. These gates were purposeful and far too precise to be the result of natural forces. Someone—or something—had made them. But for what purpose?
Could it have been The Giant? The thought struck IAM suddenly, like a quiet revelation. From everything he had learned, no other being in history could match the scope and power required to shape such an unfathomable barrier. The Giant stood as the most likely candidate.
And if it truly was him… then why?
Perhaps the walls were meant as protection—an enormous shield to guard the people within from the "TRAGEDY." The idea settled in IAM's mind, not as certainty, but as a seed... A truth waiting to be watered and grow into a full–fledged tree.
But the thought was snatched away as he found himself standing in front of his destination. The building's façade was modest compared to the Higher Sector's usual extravagance—painted in a warm beige with dark wooden accents, a little brass plaque by the entrance polished to a mirror shine.
IAM stepped inside, his footsteps sinking into a carpet so soft it felt like stepping into moss. He made his way down a short hallway toward the familiar door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Come in," came the deep voice from the other side.
IAM pushed the door open.
The room looked exactly as it had the last time he'd been here. A well-accommodating space, it was designed to soothe the mind the moment you entered. The air carried a gentle, earthy scent—scented candles, burning low on a side table, their small flames dancing in the quiet. Sunlight poured in from the half-drawn curtains, spilling across the floor in wide amber bands.
The walls were dotted with paintings. Some were soft landscapes: golden wheat fields under pale blue skies, or distant mountains wreathed in morning mist. Others showed families—smiling, holding hands—moments of uncomplicated happiness frozen forever in oil and canvas.
The wooden floorboards gleamed faintly, each plank running in clean lines that drew the eye toward the center of the room, where the furniture had been arranged. Several plush chairs were scattered around, but the focal point was the pair of large leather couches facing each other.
On the left couch sat Thomas.
He was not a man who could be easily overlooked. He was short in stature and he bore all the distinct features of a Giant's descendant. His head was completely bald, the skin smooth and reflecting the sunlight, but a thick, dark beard framed his jaw like a well-kept hedge. A gold-chained monocle perched over one eye, the glass catching the light in brief, glinting flashes.
His twenty fingers were rested calmly in his lap, each one heavy with ornate rings, the gemstones catching tiny fragments of sunlight. His suit, as always, was immaculate: a sleek, custom-tailored piece in a deep shade of navy, with a crisp white shirt beneath. Around his wrist gleamed an expensive watch that looked as though it had been taken straight from a jeweler's display that morning.
Thomas's gaze was steady, yet there was a strange quality to them, as though he'd been carrying other people's burdens for too long without setting them down.
He gave IAM a slow, measured nod in greeting.
"I can't put my finger on it," he said, voice low but even, "but you seem to be doing better than the last time I saw you. There's… some energy to your step."
IAM moved toward the couch opposite him, lowering himself into the leather's embrace. His eyes stayed on Thomas, studying the faint shadows under the man's eyes, with a lift of one eyebrow.
"Is that so?" IAM replied quietly.