Kael opened his eyes slowly.

  Morning light filtered through the branches, pale and muted.

  The smell of the extinguished campfire still lingered in the air, mixed with that of damp fur.

  He stretched without a sound, savoring the rare sensation of deep sleep — real rest, without jolting awake, without prowling beasts, without cold sweat.

  “I hope you enjoyed sleeping in.”

  The voice — rough and dry — hit him like a stone.

  Lucanis stood beside the fire pit, arms crossed, eyes dark.

  Kael frowned.

  “What are you talking about? It wasn’t my turn to—”

  “Exactly,” Lucanis cut in. “It wasn’t your turn to take the second watch.”

  Kael pushed himself upright, confused.

  “I took the third. I thought—”

  “I know exactly what you thought.”

  Lucanis’s eyes were ringed with dark circles, his jaw clenched.

  His voice vibrated with contained exhaustion.

  “The princess decided to fall asleep during hers.”

  “And you — since I can’t trust you to guard a pebble — I chose to stay awake. All night. The entire night.”

  Kael froze for a moment.

  Not because he felt guilty — not this time.

  But because he understood something.

  Lucanis wasn’t talking to him.

  Not only to him.

  He had shifted his anger. Or rather… he was finally sharing it.

  Althéa had pushed herself upright, hair tangled, her face still blurred with sleep.

  “You’re exaggerating,” she muttered. “I only slept a little.”

  “A little?” Lucanis growled. “You fell asleep at the very start of your watch. Do you have any idea what it’s like to stand two watches in a row, Althéa?”

  She stared at him, taken aback. Then straightened, rigid despite everything.

  “I didn’t choose to be here.”

  “And I notice you’re no longer using the proper titles when addressing me.”

  Lucanis snapped back immediately.

  “And I didn’t choose to babysit two kids who can’t tell the difference between sleeping in a danger zone and sleeping in their bedrooms.

  And as for proper titles — after watching you sleep with your mouth wide open, I think we can forget them from now on.”

  Silence.

  Kael looked from one to the other.

  The fire was dead, but the tension heated the air.

  “Well,” he finally said,

  “For once, I’m not the problem…… I’m going to enjoy it.”

  Lucanis flashed a brief grimace of anger.

  Althéa looked away, offended, but offered no reply.

  Kael said nothing more. There was no need.

  Lucanis headed toward the spring with a weary stride, his canteen empty in his hand.

  He didn’t even bother to look back.

  Althéa stayed at a distance.

  Seated against a tree trunk, arms crossed, her gaze stubbornly fixed on a blurred point on the horizon.

  Kael sighed.

  He scattered the dead embers of the campfire, then moved toward where he had hung the hides the night before.

  They had dried faster than he’d expected. The cold wind had helped.

  They were still stiff, a little tacky — but usable.

  He unhooked them one by one, spread them flat over a fallen log, then rummaged through his pack.

  He still had a bit of leather left, salvaged from the cabin the day before.

  Not much. But enough.

  He got to work.

  A knife, a few precise motions, and the straps began to take shape.

  He wasn’t doing this to impress anyone.

  Not to help.

  He was doing it out of necessity.

  Because he knew they were going to have to walk.

  For a long time.

  And carrying bloody hides by hand was the best way to stink like prey — and attract death.

  He folded them, tied them into rolls, fastened the leather straps so they could be worn on the back like bedrolls.

  Not elegant.

  But practical.

  Solid.

  Althéa.

  She hadn’t moved — but she was watching him.

  Her amethyst eyes, shadowed but alert.

  Kael didn’t even look up.

  She pressed her lips together. No words came.

  He sensed her hesitation, as if she wanted to say something.

  Apologize, maybe.

  Or strike back.

  But nothing.

  She looked away.

  Kael kept working.

  One last strap. One final knot.

  The bundle was ready.

  Lucanis still hadn’t returned.

  The spring wasn’t far, though.

  Something was still turning beneath the surface.

  But for now, Kael chose to focus on his hands — on what he could control.

  The wind had picked up. Light, dry, but not enough to wash away the taste of ash.

  Lucanis reappeared between the trees, canteen in hand. He still looked exhausted — but calmer.

  He stopped when he saw Kael bent over the hides.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Kael looked up, grabbed one of the rolled skins, and tossed it to him.

  “Gift,” he muttered. “Homemade.”

  Lucanis caught it on instinct, weighed it, then nodded.

  “Thanks.”

  Kael rolled up another strapped hide, walked over to Althéa… and dropped it at her feet.

  Not out of open hostility.

  More like studied indifference.

  She lowered her gaze to the bundle.

  The tacky fur.

  The rough leather.

  The coarse knots.

  She didn’t touch it right away.

  Her face showed a mix of disgust and resignation.

  Lucanis crouched beside the fire pit.

  With a methodical gesture, he brushed away the last traces of ash and covered everything with dry earth.

  Then he slung the fur across his shoulder, tied high, ready to walk.

  Kael did the same.

  Althéa hesitated briefly, then followed suit without a word.

  No one suggested a plan.

  No one asked who would lead.

  They stood up naturally.

  They knew where they were going.

  And more importantly, that they had to put distance between themselves and this place.

  They left the overlook in silence.

  The slope was steep at first, then softened into a grassy hollow.

  Before long, the forest grew thicker, taller. Broadleaf trees gave way to a dense fir forest that smothered the morning light.

  Lucanis took the lead. His features hard, his face closed like stone.

  He looked neither right nor left, focused on tracks, sounds, silences.

  Kael walked behind him, lighter on his feet.

  His eyes wandered everywhere.

  He often lifted his head, studying the high canopies, the dark needles, the massive trunks lined up like pillars.

  “Damn…” he muttered to himself. “Still surprises me how many trees there are.”

  He stepped off the barely marked path for a moment and knelt in a thicket.

  A cluster of red berries. Not too bright. Slightly dull.

  He hesitated. Picked one. Then two.

  He showed them to Lucanis without a word.

  Lucanis glanced back over his shoulder, nodded without slowing.

  “Don’t eat the leaves. And not more than ten at a time.”

  Kael smiled, almost proud like a kid.

  He slipped them into his small rabbit-skin pouch tied at his belt.

  Every time he found some, he did the same.

  Althéa followed a few steps behind.

  Her fur slung over one shoulder, her bow settled firmly on the other, her quiver tapping lightly against her hip — she only had two arrows left.

  But she kept her head high.

  Her gaze moved from Lucanis to Kael. Cold. Distant.

  She watched Kael rummage through ferns, smile over a few berries, throw glances at Lucanis as if seeking approval.

  She found him ridiculous.

  And yet… a part of her — quiet but persistent — envied him.

  His ability to adapt.

  To take things as they came.

  To survive without shame.

  “You spend all your time acting like an idiot,” she said sharply.

  “So explain something to me.”

  Kael lifted his head, one hand still reaching toward a bramble branch.

  “Why were you so calm yesterday,” she continued, her tone icy,

  “when we faced the lycaons?”

  Silence settled for a brief moment.

  Kael straightened, his hands empty now.

  He wasn’t smiling.

  “I saw both of you panic,” he said bluntly.

  “And I figured if no one kept their head, we were all going to get torn apart.”

  He paused, briefly met Althéa’s gaze.

  “So I pretended. That’s all.”

  Then he added, quieter:

  “But if you want the truth…

  the one who was most terrified was probably me.”

  Lucanis turned his head toward him, eyebrows slightly raised.

  “I was wondering about that too,” he murmured.

  “You looked… almost calm.”

  Kael shrugged, never slowing his pace.

  Behind them, Althéa still walked at a distance.

  Her movements were stiff — every step too deliberate, every motion too controlled.

  She watched them in silence, then spoke:

  “And explain this too.”

  “Why do you walk without making a sound?”

  “Even the dead leaves barely crackle.”

  Her tone was icy. But not mocking.

  More… genuinely irritated.

  Kael half-turned, a crooked smile on his lips.

  “Where do you think I grew up, princess?”

  “In the Broken Crown, if you don’t want to get robbed or beaten in some stairwell, you learn pretty fast how to move quietly.”

  He took a few more steps, casual, then added:

  “And there was Mrs. Agnès, my downstairs neighbor.”

  “An old woman who talked about herself from morning to night.”

  “So I learned how to make sure she never noticed me. Not going up the stairs. Not opening my door. Not even breathing.”

  Lucanis stifled a chuckle.

  He dipped his head to hide his smile — but it was too late.

  Althéa, meanwhile, frowned slightly.

  Not in anger.

  Not in mockery either.

  Just… unsettled.

  She had expected an arrogant quip. A joke.

  Instead, Kael had handed her a piece of raw truth — unguarded, undramatic.

  And she didn’t know what to do with it.

  “And that Needle-Blade you’re carrying,” she went on.

  “Your weapon.”

  “What is it, exactly?”

  Kael turned his head, a little surprised.

  “My Needle-Blade?”

  He slowly drew it from his belt.

  It was a blade so thin, so brilliantly white it seemed to catch and reflect the light — almost invisible in full daylight.

  Longer than a short sword, with a hole at the base of the guard, like a true needle.

  “I got it a few days ago,” he said.

  “I won a bet against someone walking around way too full of himself — and walked away with it for free.”

  He shrugged.

  “I don’t know what it is. Or who made it.”

  “But the moment I saw it… I don’t know. Something clicked.”

  He spun it lightly in his hand. No showmanship.

  Just the motion.

  “It doesn’t look like much.”

  “But so far,” he added, “it hasn’t let us down. I think.”

  Althéa was watching him.

  She wanted to say something.

  Call him sentimental, maybe. Or stupid.

  But the words wouldn’t come.

  Ahead of them, Lucanis cast discreet glances over his shoulder.

  The Needle-Blade shimmered briefly, catching a dull glint between the branches.

  Kael sheathed it with a sharp, practiced motion.

  They had been walking for nearly an hour when Lucanis stopped short.

  He turned to face them, serious, his gaze darker than usual.

  “We need to talk.”

  Kael and Althéa joined him, slightly out of breath.

  The ground had grown uneven, the branches lower.

  The world seemed to be closing in around them.

  “We have five days left,” Lucanis announced.

  “Before the Trial activates.”

  Kael narrowed his eyes.

  “Five days… and then what?”

  “Then the instability comes back.”

  “Worse.”

  “The effects of the Stabilizing Veils will start to crack if we’re not back in time,” he went on.

  “And when that happens… the consequences aren’t pretty.”

  Silence fell.

  Kael tightened the strap of his fur bundle, uneasy.

  “I’ve already had a taste of it,” he murmured.

  “At the workshop… I convulsed. Like an animal.”

  “And another time, near two women, I felt it building up…”

  “I ended up throwing up my guts in an alley. Like a damn drunk.”

  He grimaced, disgusted as much by the memory as by himself.

  “I don’t want to go through that again.”

  “Not yet. Not like that.”

  Althéa lowered her eyes, thoughtful.

  Lucanis continued:

  “So we move. Every hour counts now.”

  “If we’re not back before the sixth sunrise, it starts again.”

  “And this time, we won’t be able to escape it.”

  They resumed walking.

  Kael kept his eyes on the ground, lost in thought.

  A slight frown creased his brow.

  Something wasn’t adding up.

  “And… how exactly is it supposed to activate?” he asked at last.

  “This famous Trial. I didn’t exactly get a manual with my instability.”

  Althéa looked up at him, almost surprised by the question.

  “You don’t know?”

  Kael shook his head.

  “I’ve never been given anything close to a clear explanation. Just… symptoms. Strange things.”

  She let out a small sigh, as if forcing herself to answer.

  “Every Trame Bearer has a three-month cycle.

  As soon as the first symptoms appear, they must report to the Institute.

  There, you’re put through a curriculum… a kind of school.

  They teach you what you need to know about Trames, about your body, about the risks.”

  “And what we’re doing right now?” Kael asked.

  “A pre-formation. An aptitude test,” Althéa replied.

  “A way to see if you can stand on your feet outside the walls, before even thinking about surviving the Trial.”

  Kael pressed his lips together.

  “And after that? What—do they throw you into an arena with a sword and wish you good luck?”

  “Not far from it,” Althéa said.

  She glanced at Lucanis, as if checking whether he would intervene. He stayed silent.

  “When the three months are over, all Trame Bearers are gathered in the Coliseum.

  It’s a ritual. Official. Immutable.

  The Bearers are placed at the center, surrounded by Revealed—or guards.”

  “To applaud?” Kael scoffed.

  “No. To neutralize those who fail.”

  Kael didn’t reply. She went on.

  “When the Trial begins, the symptoms come back all at once. Stronger. Uncontrollable.

  You receive a clear order from the Dean: do not resist.

  Your body is pulled into what they call… the Immaterial.”

  “And what is that?” Kael asked, his tone harder now.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  “No one really explains what it is.

  All we know is that… your body disappears.

  And a fissure appears exactly where you were.”

  Kael frowned.

  “A fissure?”

  “Yes. A tear in the air. Not wide.

  If blood seeps out of it, it means the Trame Bearer died during the Trial.

  If it opens slowly, it means the Bearer has… succeeded. Or failed without dying.”

  “And if they don’t come back?”

  “They all come back eventually,” she said.

  “Some just take days.”

  Kael stood still for a moment, arms crossed. He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Great. So, in short: convulsions, vomiting, disappearance into another plane of existence, a fissure, bleeding, applause… or death.”

  Neither Althéa nor Lucanis answered.

  There was nothing to correct in that list.