I had read in books about places that seem forgotten by the world.

  Places that evolved in isolation, following their own logic, far from everyone else. But reading about something and standing before it are two entirely different things.

  I stood on the deck of the ship and saw the Kingdom of the Mutants for the first time.

  The beach was long and empty. Sand that was almost gray under the light... and the sky? Not much different from the sand. It looked as though we were walking toward a painting done in black and white. There was no port, no dock, no wooden posts to tie ropes to. Just a shore staring out at the sea.

  Baldur broke the spell of that scene: "This looks like..."

  Rona's voice, cold: "A ghost town."

  Ray was the first to jump, landing on the wet shore without a sound. He turned and extended his hand to help the others down.

  I stepped onto the beach. The air here had a different smell: smoke, metal, something chemical I couldn't identify.

  Baldur and Rona followed. We all stood there for a moment, staring at the boat that had carried us across the sea.

  Then Ray did something I didn't expect.

  He pulled out a small glass bottle, opened the cap, and poured its contents along the sides of the boat. The liquid spread quickly, seeping into the wood. The smell reached me immediately. It was oil.

  I asked him: "What are you doing?"

  He lit a match and said: "Hiding the evidence of our arrival."

  The fire caught instantly, and within seconds it was crawling across the boat, consuming the wood with speed.

  Rona's voice came from behind me: "Are you insane?" She stepped forward, watching the flames spread. "You do realize you may have just burned our only way back?"

  Ray turned to her: "Yes. I realize that."

  "And you did it anyway?"

  He looked at the burning boat, then back to her: "Because a boat sitting here will raise suspicion. This place may be under surveillance."

  Rona said: "So you destroyed it."

  Ray corrected her: "I made sure we wouldn't be discovered before we even started. The Cobra's orders were clear. Reach the city. Make contact with the rebels. Stay alive. None of that happens if we're caught on the first day because we left evidence on the beach."

  I watched the boat burn. The flames had swallowed it completely now, the wooden frame cracking and collapsing in on itself. Smoke rose into the fog.

  He was right. The moment we left the port, we knew there was no going back.

  Rona stared at Ray for a long moment, then said: "You should have warned us beforehand so we could come up with a better plan for the boat. But there's no use in that now. We need to move quickly; the smoke will draw attention."

  We moved toward the city, which was worse up close. The buildings were tightly packed, their black walls rising like tombstones. The streets were narrow and winding, designed in a way that tormented those passing through with their complexity. Fog clung to everything, making it hard to see more than a few meters ahead.

  Baldur asked: "Where are we going?"

  Ray pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and looked at it in the dim light filtering through the fog: "The Cobra gave me a rough map. The meeting point is in District Seven." He folded the paper and put it back. "But we're not going directly. He told me that if contact is still active, there will be a sign. Something that proves they're prepared for our arrival, or that they still are."

  Rona said: "And if there's no sign?"

  Ray paused for a moment: "Then we know something went wrong. And we'll need a backup plan."

  We walked in silence. The streets were empty, but I could feel eyes watching us. Faces in windows, shapes in doorways, movements in the fog. Nothing direct, nothing hostile, but something was there.

  Ray said quietly: "A patrol will pass soon. The Cobra said their timing is regular, every three hours in this area." He looked around. "We need to stop."

  We moved toward the shadow of a building and hid in one of the corners. Two minutes later I heard footsteps. Three men in military uniforms, carrying lanterns. They passed within meters of us but didn't look our way. They disappeared into the fog.

  We waited another minute to be certain they were gone, then continued.

  After several minutes of careful walking we reached an abandoned market. The stalls were empty and in disrepair. There was no one around.

  Ray stopped, his eyes scanning the place: "It should be here."

  Each of us took a section and began searching. We searched the market for a long time and began to doubt that what we were looking for even existed... but in the end I saw it. At one of the pillars was a small black piece of cloth bearing the emblem of the Red Crown, the rebels' symbol, as Ray had told us.

  We continued. Ray stopped several times, checking the paper, looking around, confirming directions. It was clear he had never been here before. He was reading the signs, interpreting the instructions, trying to match what the Cobra had written with what he saw before him.

  Finally, we reached an old warehouse. Three stories, windows boarded up, walls covered in writings hostile to the Kingdom, and a faded sign hanging above the entrance: 'Imperial Textile Storage, District 7.'

  Ray checked the paper once more: "This is it. The warehouse in District Seven."

  Baldur asked: "Why here? What makes this place special?"

  Ray answered: "The Cobra said it's an abandoned government building. Government buildings aren't usually searched. And this area is industrial; the noise from the factories covers any movement."

  I said: "So we enter from here?"

  Ray nodded: "That's what I was told."

  Ray stopped before the door, then knocked.

  Three times, a pause, twice, a pause, once. Then we waited.

  From behind the door a voice asked: "Who sent you?"

  Ray answered: "The man with no name."

  A long silence. Then the reply came from behind the door: "And what did they take from him?"

  Ray said steadily: "Everything... except his promise."

  The voice said: "So you're the Cobra's people? Come in. Quickly."

  We entered one by one. The door closed behind us immediately, then locked with a heavy sound.

  A shape emerged from the shadows. A woman with short-cropped hair and a scar running across her jaw. Behind her I saw two other shapes, two armed women.

  The woman said: "Hand over whatever weapons you're carrying."

  We looked at each other, then began pulling out what we had. Knives, small tools. We didn't have much.

  The woman searched us quickly and efficiently, while the other two watched us with caution. Once they were satisfied we carried nothing dangerous, the woman said: "I apologize.. this is standard procedure."

  She led us through a corridor, then down a stone staircase. The two women walked behind us. At the bottom of the stairs was another door. The woman knocked with the same pattern Ray had used, and said: "The Cobra's people have arrived. They've been verified."

  The door opened.

  Light spilled out, warm and bright compared to the dim corridor. I blinked repeatedly, trying to adjust.

  We stepped through the door.

  The room was bigger than I'd expected. A high ceiling, oil lamps hanging from hooks on the walls casting a warm glow over everything. In the center was a large table covered in maps and papers. Weapons lined one wall: old rifles, knives, improvised clubs. In the corner I saw barrels and crates, mostly supplies.

  But what caught my attention was the people.

  There weren't just a few. There were at least fifteen people in the room, spread throughout. Some working on the maps, others speaking in low voices, others preparing supplies, some sitting on chairs sharpening knives. They all stopped when we entered and stared at us.

  Three of them stood at the center table, clearly in positions of leadership.

  The first was a woman, tall and lean, with short blond hair. Her face was sharp, with cold blue eyes. On her left cheek was a long scar running from just below her eye all the way down to her jaw. She wore a dark brown leather coat, worn at the edges, and heavy military boots.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The second was younger, shorter and slightly fuller, with short black curly hair. Her face was round, her eyes a warm brown. On her hands were old burn scars, pink marks stretching from her fingers to her wrists. She wore a shirt and practical trousers with many pockets. She was leaning on a wooden cane.

  The third was a boy. He couldn't have been more than sixteen. Lean and tall, with light brown hair falling over his green eyes. His face was young, but his eyes carried a weight that no one his age should carry. He wore a simple gray shirt and a large black coat that was clearly too big for him.

  They all turned to look at us as we entered. The rest of the people in the room stopped their work.

  The tall woman stepped forward. Her movements were calm and measured; they reminded me of Selin's movements. The movements of a seasoned fighter.

  She looked at each of us in turn: Ray, me, Baldur, Rona. Her gaze lingered on Rona a moment longer than the others.

  Then she spoke: "You're the Cobra's people."

  Ray nodded: "We are."

  She said: "You're late. We expected you days ago."

  Ray said: "The sea had other plans."

  The woman studied him, then nodded once: "Fair enough. The sea at this time of year is unpredictable." She looked at us again, continuing to examine us carefully, her eyes studying each one.

  Then, suddenly, she smiled. A small smile: "My name is Vera."

  Her name? Did she just say her name? I glanced at Baldur. I saw the shock in his eyes, the same shock I felt.

  The younger woman said: "My name is Elsa. Happy to meet you."

  The boy said: "And I'm Thomas."

  We all went quiet. We hadn't expected this. Names. They had real names.

  Baldur began asking questions, his voice full of bewilderment: "You... have names?"

  Vera looked at him, eyebrow raised: "Of course we have names. Don't you?"

  Baldur stumbled over his words: "No, I mean... I thought rebels wouldn't have the luxury of having names."

  Thomas said, his quiet voice carrying unexpected strength: "A name is not a luxury, and it's not a privilege. Or rather, we refuse for it to be. Every person on earth thinks, feels, suffers. They deserve to be called by something that means something to them alone, not to be classified by a number or a role, or simply ignored as though they don't exist. That is a reality we cannot accept."

  I looked at Rona. She was staring at Vera with an expression I couldn't quite read. Not shock, but something else. Curiosity? Maybe respect?

  Vera added: "So we resist. Not just against tyranny, or cruelty, or injustice. But against the idea that some people deserve less than others. Against the idea that a name and an identity must be purchased."

  She paused, then gestured toward her comrades and the other rebels in the room, and said: "We give everyone who joins us a name. A real one. They choose it themselves. Because that is what they deserve."

  The silence that followed was heavy. I found myself thinking of Ray, of the name Baldur had given him, and what it meant that these rebels, these outcasts, insisted on this one fundamental right for every person.

  Baldur smiled and extended his hand: "I respect the way you think. Allow me to introduce myself; I'm Baldur." He gestured toward us and began introducing everyone, until he reached Ray. He hesitated briefly, unsure whether to mention his new name or not.

  But Ray preempted that: "I'm Ray."

  Vera smiled, looking at Ray: "The Cobra told us you guys would be of great help, not just in terms of intelligence but strength as well. Still, we don't rely on words. We'll test you."

  Before anyone could respond, Thomas stepped back a few paces and looked at us. Something shifted in his posture he became more balanced, more ready. The young eyes turned sharp and focused.

  He said, looking at all of us before his gaze settled on Ray, his voice louder than before: "Try not to die."

  Thomas planted his feet on the ground and drew his fist back before striking the air toward Ray at tremendous speed, so tremendous that I didn't see his hand move. The air exploded with force and produced a sound like the crack of a whip.

  Ray had no time to dodge. He raised his arms before his face and took a defensive stance. When the strike hit him, Ray was pushed backward, his boots scraping against the floor and leaving black lines, until he stopped several meters back.

  "You're a Stones user, then," Rona said, watching Thomas's movements.

  Elsa replied: "Not just a user. An enhanced one." Then, with a smooth motion, she tossed him the wooden cane she'd been carrying.

  Thomas caught the cane mid-air. And in an instant the distance between him and Rona was gone.. he brought the cane down toward her head.

  But Rona didn't move at all.

  She stood there, eyes open, staring directly at the approaching Thomas. She didn't blink. She didn't retreat. She didn't raise her hand to defend herself. My heart nearly stopped in that moment. Was she afraid? Frozen? Or... confident?

  The cane was centimeters from her face...

  Ray's hand appeared suddenly. I don't know how he got there, but his left hand intercepted the cane's path, and the moment the wood touched his hand the cane split in two. Ray gave Thomas no chance to pull back. Using the momentum of his motion, his left foot planted, his upper body twisted, and his right foot rose in a perfect circular arc: a spinning kick, powerful and fast, that buried itself into the boy's ribs.

  Thomas literally flew through the air and struck the wall five meters away, shattering it on impact. Then he coughed blood.

  "Do you want to continue?" Ray asked him.

  Thomas raised his hand, waving it weakly, and said in a hoarse voice: "No... no need to continue." But he was smiling, a genuine smile despite the pain. He tried to rise to his knees and told Vera: "They're... they're really good." Then he collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

  Shock rippled through everyone in the hall, voices rising:

  "Did you see that?"

  "Thomas... he didn't even last..."

  "Who are these people?"

  Vera moved immediately. She crossed the room quickly and knelt beside Thomas. She lifted his head carefully, checked his breathing and his pulse. Then she lifted him as though he weighed nothing, resting his head on her shoulder.

  She told one of the rebels standing nearby: "Get water. And bandages."

  Elsa hurried over too, but stopped at a distance, watching Thomas with visible worry in her eyes. Her hands were folded in front of her chest, as though trying to stop herself from rushing forward as well.

  Rona said, her voice calm but carrying genuine curiosity: "Why was he so weak?" She looked at Elsa. "You said he was an enhanced Stone user. But he went down with a single kick."

  Elsa paused. She looked at Rona, something between defensiveness and sadness in her eyes, then said: "Thomas isn't weak. The problem is that your friend is far stronger than expected."

  Then she turned to Ray and asked: "You're a Stone user too, aren't you?"

  Ray didn't answer.

  Elsa continued: "How much did the Cobra give you?"

  Ray said, his voice as calm as ever: "I can't answer that."

  Elsa looked at Vera. They exchanged a glance.

  Vera said: "No need to answer. I can tell from how you fought."

  She stepped forward, her eyes studying him with a different kind of attention now: "The speed, the strength, the control. The way you stopped Thomas's strike without stepping back."

  Then she said: "Fifteen grams. At least."

  Voices erupted throughout the room from every direction:

  "What?"

  "Fifteen? That's at least five times what Thomas has."

  One person leaped from their seat: "Someone with that much power just joined us?" They looked around at the other rebels. "Do you realize what this means?"

  Another man said: "We may finally have a chance... a real one..."

  A third whispered: "Against the Axons... maybe..."

  But Vera raised her hand, and the room gradually settled.

  She said, her voice louder now: "Don't get too excited." She looked at the rebels. "Someone enhanced with fifteen grams, yes, that will be enormous support. But..."

  She looked at Ray: "The Axons are different. Do you understand that?"

  Ray answered: "Without a doubt."

  For a moment I felt a wave of disappointment wash over the entire room. What Vera had said killed whatever hope the rebels had been holding. But she quickly added: "I'm not saying we don't have a greater chance now, on the contrary. War is not only about strength. It's about strategy, and holding your winning cards until the right moment."

  "Anyway" Vera said, "you need to rest now. We'll continue our planning later. I need to take Thomas to recover."

  She looked at Elsa and said: "Take care of our guests."

  Elsa nodded. Then Vera looked at us: "Elsa will show you to your accommodations. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we talk details."

  Elsa led us through the warehouse, then through narrow back corridors. The fog was still thick, and Elsa's footsteps were uneven, one foot striking the ground firmly and the other lagging behind.

  Ray noticed and said to her: "I apologize for that."

  Elsa replied: "The cane? Don't worry about it.. I'd been meaning to replace it anyway."

  She moved closer to Ray and told him: "You know, for a moment I thought you were Jack."

  I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me: "Jack?"

  Elsa stopped at a street corner. She looked around, made sure the way was clear, then looked at me: "Jack the Ripper."

  Jack the Ripper? Here?

  Baldur asked in shock: "How... how do you know about Jack the Ripper?"

  Elsa smiled: "Everyone here knows Jack the Ripper." She gestured for us to keep walking. "Come. I'll tell you."

  We walked, and Elsa began to speak: "Twenty years ago, before the new king came, before our kingdom became isolated and cut off from the world... Jack the Ripper was famous here."

  She added: "In a world where the law protects the wealthy and crushes the poor, where a nobleman could kill ten people and face no consequences because he had money and influence... in a world like that, Jack the Ripper was the justice that the rebels of that time sought to deliver."

  Baldur said in surprise: "So you follow his ideas?"

  Elsa smiled: "Exactly. Ideas don't die easily, especially when they're right." She looked around, then continued: "When the new king came, when the oppression became harsher, when the class divide became more obvious, Jack the Ripper's ideas didn't stop. They intensified."

  Rona said, a trace of anger in her voice: "Jack the Ripper is a killer. He kills in cold blood. Whatever his reasons, he is not a good example to follow."

  Elsa looked at her: "Yes. He kills. But who does he kill?"

  Rona answered: "That doesn't matter. He kills for his own personal interest."

  Elsa said quietly: "Even if those he kills... deserve it?"

  I said, trying to understand their logic: "But who decides who is the criminal? Who decides who deserves to die?"

  Elsa looked at me directly: " good question. And the answer? No one should have to decide. In a just world, there would be real law. Fair courts. Justice for everyone, not just for those who can afford to buy it. But we don't live in a just world."

  She took a deep breath and said: "It's not the ideal solution, but it's a reminder that even the powerful aren't safe. That there are consequences. That justice, one way or another, will come. Without that belief, we would have stopped resisting long ago."

  We walked in silence for a while before I asked: "You said your country became isolated twenty years ago. So... how..."

  Elsa looked at me, then smiled a simple smile: "How do I know he's still alive?"

  I nodded.

  She said: "When we made contact with the Cobra, we asked him for something. We asked him to help us get in touch with Jack the Ripper, if he was still alive."

  Baldur asked: "And what did he say?"

  Elsa answered: "He said Jack the Ripper is still alive. The Cobra told us that clearly. But he also said he had no guarantees. He said he would try to contact him, try to secure his help, but he didn't know whether Jack would agree, or even whether he'd be able to reach him in the first place."

  Then she looked at Ray: "Then you arrived. And when I saw you fight, when I saw your strength... I thought the Cobra had succeeded. I thought you were Jack."

  Ray said, his voice calm: "I'm not Jack."

  Elsa nodded: "I know that now. But I wonder, did the Cobra fail to reach him?"

  I looked at Ray. He was staring straight ahead, his face completely neutral. But the way his hands were folded tighter than usual. The way his jaw was set, just slightly.

  Ray knew something. Or rather, he was hiding something.

  Elsa's voice pulled me from my thoughts: "We're here."

  The building looked like every other building in the city: run-down, forgotten. A faded sign above the entrance read: The King's Hotel. Was this another cover?

  When we entered, Elsa stopped at the front desk and pulled out some keys, handing one to each of us. She told us to check our rooms, and to gather in Room 9 in an hour.

  We each went to our rooms. I looked around mine. It was very ordinary. A bed, a table, a chair, a window. Completely ordinary.

  But if I had learned anything, it was that 'ordinary' here was anything but.

  I sat on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

  The Cobra. Had he tried to reach Jack the Ripper? Had he succeeded?

  Ray...

  Ray who barely speaks about his past. Ray who appeared out of nowhere. Ray who has immense power. Ray who tensed when Jack's name was mentioned. Ray who has reason to hate the nobility.

  But Ray said he isn't Jack.

  Something was wrong... Something wasn't adding up.

  what if he was lying?

  What if Ray was...

  No.

  No, that can't be. That's... Ray isn't a killer. Ray is... but I don't really know who Ray is, do I?

  Who.... Who is Ray, really.

  I took a deep breath. Maybe I'm overthinking this. What Ray said could be the truth... And Maybe the Cobra truly couldn't find Jack the Ripper, let alone contact him...

  But if the Cobra could reach him... then I need to know. The source of the stones that Jack carries...