Talking quietly, they soon wandered into the general camp area. Heads peeked out from tents one after another, curious eyes tracking their every move. Wherever Natalie's flashlight swept, it caught a glint of wide, hungry stares shining in the dark. As they walked, she scanned the rows of tents until her light stopped on one—a small one, a woman and a child inside. The woman was unmistakably white. The little girl beside her, maybe six or seven, was mixed—Drakoric eyes and soft brown hair. Clearly, her father was gone. Natalie crouched down and handed over a few pieces of candy. The girl's face lit up immediately, but she didn't snatch them. Instead, she turned to her mother for permission. The woman hesitated, wary eyes flickering over Natalie's face, and only after a long pause did she nod. The child grinned, tore open the wrapper, and popped a candy into her mouth. But the mother suddenly froze mid-breath, yanked the candy back, licked it herself first—testing for poison. When nothing happened after a few seconds, she finally returned it to her daughter, who sucked on it happily, eyes gleaming. Natalie smiled faintly. "Relax. It's not poisoned." Watching the girl enjoy her treat, she pulled out two sausages next. She held them back for a moment, waving them playfully as she said, "Alright, I've got a few questions. Answer them right, and these are yours." The woman's eyes locked on the sausages. Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow. Then, she nodded and replied in broken, accented Drakoric, "Okay. You ask." Natalie asked, "Why are you all gathered here? What did you do before this? Where did you come from?"The woman thought carefully, translating the questions in her head before replying piece by piece. It turned out the group had come from Greendale—foreigners trapped when the disasters hit. Some were exchange students from Greendale University, others migrant workers, and some were just tourists. Greendale had been a magnet for travelers—ancient city walls, wild deserts, mountains, grasslands, and caverns. It was the kind of place people came from halfway across the world to see once in a lifetime. Among them were "explorers" like Cash and his sidekick. But when the world went to hell, everyone got stranded. These outsiders were all stranded in Drakoria, unable to go home. Greendale's own supplies had already been running low. Locals were fighting tooth and nail for food—nobody had spare kindness for foreigners. One by one, these foreigners got shut out by the locals. The outsiders became scapegoats. They were stronger, fitter, more desperate. When they fought for food, they won—and that only fueled resentment. Soon, the locals united against them. It didn't matter if they'd been enemies five minutes earlier—if you weren't from here, you were the enemy now. They drove the foreigners out of the city, one campfire at a time. That's when Cash showed up. He claimed to be an "explorer" from Victoria, boasting of his stockpile of tents and supplies. He promised shelter, a "safe place" for the displaced. That was how he gathered them—fed them just enough to keep them breathing and obedient. Natalie raised an eyebrow. "So you must really admire your great leader, huh?" The woman shook her head immediately. "We work for him ... because we must. He gives food. One meal. Every week. "Most times … we eat our dead neighbors."One meal a week? So that was the trick—Cash didn't care about them at all. He just needed bodies to make his camp look large and intimidating, to keep others from raiding his stash. But he didn't care if they lived or died. One meal a week, just enough to keep them hanging on. The ones who actually benefited were the armed men guarding him. Natalie handed over the sausages. The woman took them like treasure, beaming through tears, then hurried back into her tent with her daughter, pulling the flap shut tight before eating. In times like this, food only truly belonged to you once it was in your stomach. Natalie and Cassian kept moving, stopping at other tents, talking to more people. Every story was the same. By the time they looped back toward their own tent, Natalie summed it up plainly, "This place isn't like the Grayhound Sect or the Cassiland Base. There's no loyalty, no unity. It's not even a real organization—it's just a refugee camp for foreigners." Cassian nodded. "They're starving while their leader's living fat. No wonder no one's loyal to him." They hadn't even needed to threaten anyone. A few candies, and these desperate souls had revealed everything about Cash's so-called empire.