The wind was still sweeping across the plateau.

  Slipping between the rocks with an almost irritating regularity, like something alive.

  Lucanis had been staring at the horizon for a while now. His gaze had hardened, but something in his features had shifted. He no longer held his jaw the way he used to. He was no longer trying to rationalize.

  He simply breathed out:

  "We have to face it."

  Kael lifted his head.

  "They’re hunting us."

  A heavy silence followed.

  "And not just anything," Lucanis added. "A Class-S.

  Probably… the worst possible scenario. Especially for Latents.

  We can’t detect them. Can’t sense them.

  And we certainly can’t fight them."

  Kael stiffened.

  "So… that’s it? We’re going to die here?" he asked under his breath.

  Lucanis lowered his eyes.

  He didn’t answer. He only bit his lip, a fleeting tension tightening his jaw.

  It was Althéa who spoke.

  "We already killed one. Apparently.

  Another one—or two—should be possible.

  If we do it right."

  She said it without irony. Without defiance.

  Simply as a clinical observation.

  Lucanis studied her for a moment. She was meeting his gaze without blinking.

  He sighed and turned away.

  "I’m going to get some sleep. I stayed up all night, and all day too."

  He gestured toward the camp with a tired motion.

  "You’re on watch. Wake me at the slightest sign of trouble."

  Then he lay down on his side, wrapped in his coat, his back turned to the fire.

  Kael and Althéa were left alone.

  The sky was slowly growing lighter, but the cold showed no sign of easing.

  They were both wrapped in their furs, which had shrunk as they dried. The leather had tightened, grown stiffer—but it now formed truly rustic cloaks. Heavy, but useful.

  Protection against the wind. A barrier against the cold…

  and a convenient wall behind which to hide what they were feeling.

  The silence lingered. Long. Uneasy.

  Kael stared into the flames without really seeing them. He could feel Althéa close. Too close. And at the same time, unreachable.

  Then she spoke.

  "It seemed to me you had a thousand questions last night."

  Her voice was calm. A little proud. But not haughty.

  More like someone who wanted to talk, without daring to say it outright.

  "I'm willing to answer a few of them. If you’re still interested."

  Kael blinked, a little surprised that Althéa was speaking to him like this.

  He cleared his throat, searching for his words.

  "Yeah… I do have questions. Well—one in particular.

  You talked… last night… about Shards and Relics.

  I didn’t understand. What exactly are they?"

  Althéa turned her head toward him. The fire cast red shadows across her face, sharpening the lines of her cheekbones.

  She seemed to hesitate, then nodded.

  "Good question."

  She picked up a charred branch and drew a circle in the frozen ground in front of her.

  "Shards… are a source of power. But we don’t know where they come from."

  Kael remained silent, focused.

  "They manifest physically. Anywhere. A cave. A forest. A castle. A tavern. A barn lost in the middle of nowhere… Their appearance is completely random. And unpredictable."

  She lifted her eyes to him.

  "When someone finds one… everything changes."

  She paused.

  "They grant abilities. Powerful, yes. But… brutal."

  "Manipulating an element. Heightening your perceptions. Scrambling someone else’s senses… The effects vary, but they’re not unique."

  She stopped, then rephrased.

  "Let’s say it’s powerful—but not subtle."

  "If you have a Fire Shard, you won’t conjure a flame in the palm of your hand."

  "You’ll unleash a wave of fire. Massive."

  "And you won’t control much of it."

  Kael frowned.

  "So it’s unstable?"

  "Not really. It’s not that it breaks down. It’s just that you can’t modulate it."

  "If your Shard is tied to sensory disruption, for example… it won’t dull a sense."

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "It will shut it off. Completely."

  "In a fight, that can save your life. But in the wrong situation, it’s a curse."

  She looked straight into his eyes.

  "That’s what a Shard is. Powerful. But not manageable."

  "A tool that decides how you use it."

  Kael grimaced slightly, his gaze still fixed on the flames.

  "And what form does this thing even take?"

  "Like, a magical lantern? Or a mushroom screaming ‘I’m a Shard’?"

  A sarcastic smile lingered on his lips.

  Althéa, impassive, replied with absolute seriousness:

  "No."

  "It looks like a crack in reality."

  "As if the air itself had split."

  "A shard of glass suspended in empty space."

  "You just have to reach into it… and it’s yours."

  Kael raised an eyebrow.

  "Of course. Because nothing says ‘cosmic power’ like sticking your hand into a dimensional fracture."

  Althéa didn’t react. She simply added, more quietly:

  "There is another type of Shard."

  "Very rare."

  Kael turned toward her, more serious now.

  "What do you mean?"

  She spoke more slowly this time.

  "Primordial Shards."

  Kael lifted his head, intrigued.

  "Primordial? You mean… older?"

  "No. Unique."

  "There are only a handful of them in the entire known world."

  "And all of them are held by the most noble Houses. The most powerful ones."

  "Like common Shards, they are sources of power."

  "But their nature is different."

  She slowed again, weighing every word.

  "They act on concepts."

  "Or they allow elemental manipulation—but this time, with extreme precision."

  She looked at him.

  "Take a regular fire Shard: you summon a wave of flames."

  "Violent. Unpredictable."

  "But with a Primordial Shard of fire… you can simply create a flame."

  "Just one."

  "But an inextinguishable flame."

  Kael frowned.

  "And?"

  "And," she said, "if you use that flame to light a blaze… that fire will never go out."

  "It could destroy an entire city, slowly, without ever weakening."

  "It’s a silent power."

  "Irreversible."

  She paused.

  "Same thing with a Primordial Shard tied to sensory disruption."

  "It doesn’t cut off a sense."

  "It alters perception."

  "It can make you see things that don’t exist."

  "Hear voices that aren’t there."

  "Twist your mind—slowly, relentlessly—until madness sets in, without you ever understanding why."

  Kael listened without speaking. The fire crackled softly between them.

  "Those Shards…" she went on, "they’ve started wars."

  "Because they’re the only ones that can be passed on."

  "They aren’t bound to a single bearer."

  "They’re just objects…"

  "That can be stolen. Or given away."

  Kael tilted his head slightly.

  "And the Relics, then?"

  "What are they… exactly?"

  Althéa turned her gaze toward him. Her irises were a deep violet, almost unreal in the firelight. Living amethysts, Kael thought.

  And he realized he wasn’t getting tired of them.

  She answered without blinking.

  "A Dopaminergic Crystallization."

  Kael stared at her for a second, stunned.

  Then he raised an eyebrow, mock-serious.

  "Great."

  "I’m going to pretend I know what that means… and cry on the inside."

  A discreet smile crossed Althéa’s lips. Almost imperceptible, but very much there.

  She continued, more composed.

  "Alright. Simple version, then."

  "A Dopaminergic reaction is what happens in your brain when you experience a strong emotion. A very strong one."

  "Pleasure. Fear. Terror. Relief. Ecstasy. Pain."

  "And if, at that exact moment, you’re a Shard Bearer… the Shard can resonate with that reaction."

  She traced a circle in the dust with her finger.

  "And that’s what we call Dopaminergic Crystallization."

  "Your emotion becomes… matter."

  Kael frowned.

  "Wait—hold on. You’re saying my feelings turn into things? Literally?"

  "Yes."

  "Your Shard freezes the moment into reality."

  "It can become a weapon, a garment, a piece of jewelry, a book, a talisman… anything."

  "But it’s never just a simple object."

  "It contains a pure emotional memory. And a visual one."

  She turned toward him.

  "For example: if you kill an Overdrawn… and you feel something extremely intense at that moment—relief, pride, horror—then your Shard can capture that wave, that emotion, and crystallize it."

  "What you obtain… is a Relic."

  Kael opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

  "That Relic will be tied to the creature you defeated."

  "Not just to it—but to a memory it carried."

  "Something important to it. A defining moment of its own existence."

  Kael slowly shook his head, stunned.

  "Wait… so I get a weapon… and a piece of memory from a monster I killed?"

  "Yes."

  "And your Elan even translates the weapon’s name for you."

  "A word. Or a phrase. Tied to that memory."

  Kael fell silent for a moment.

  "That’s… disturbing."

  "It’s the Elan," she replied. "It absorbs what marks the living."

  "It doesn’t judge."

  "It archives."

  "And sometimes… it gives form to what it understands."

  She paused, then added softly:

  "And that’s not all."

  Kael lifted his eyes, intrigued.

  "For example… if you kill an Overdrawn that wielded fire—"

  "And you obtain a weapon at that moment—then that weapon will inherit that power."

  He blinked. Once. Twice.

  "Wait… what?"

  "The Relic doesn’t contain only a memory."

  "It can integrate a fragment of ability."

  "A reflection of what that creature was capable of."

  Kael opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

  "So if I kill a monster that throws flames around, and I’m emotional enough for crystallization to occur…"

  "I end up with a fire weapon?"

  "Exactly."

  He let out a low whistle, impressed.

  "Alright… yeah. That’s more than just a morbid souvenir."

  "That’s a blessing of war."

  She nodded, saying nothing more.

  Kael kept staring into the campfire.

  But this time, a different light burned in his eyes.

  Something caught between excitement, fear… and curiosity.

  Still lost in thought, Kael frowned.

  "But… has no one ever tried to understand where all of this comes from?"

  "The Shards. The Relics."

  "There’s no idea about their origin?"

  Althéa straightened slightly, her eyes lifting toward the sky.

  "There are theories. Many of them."

  "But the one that comes up most often—the one scholars take seriously—"

  "is that all of this is… a legacy of the Primogenes."

  Kael tilted his head to the side.

  "…The what?"

  Silence.

  Althéa slowly turned her head toward him.

  Her eyes had gone wide, frozen, as if she had just seen something deeply wrong.

  "What did you just say?"

  "‘Primogenes’?"

  "I asked what that was. It’s not exactly a common word, is it?"

  She sprang to her feet. Her gaze almost evasive now. Her breathing quickened.

  "You… you don’t know what the Primogenes are?"

  Kael stayed seated, unsettled by her reaction.

  "Well… no. Should I?"

  She stared at him, unable to hide her shock.

  "But… that’s impossible."

  "Everyone knows. Even children in the peripheral zones."

  "It’s like… it’s like not knowing what rain is. Or the moon."

  She shook her head.

  "You can’t not know that."

  "It’s… the foundation of the world. The basis of everything."

  Althéa’s gaze was still locked on Kael when the sound of footsteps echoed behind the rocks.

  The noise cracked against the stone. Fast. Heavy. Approaching.

  She immediately drew her bow, pulled the string taut. No words. No hesitation.

  Kael was already on his feet. He grabbed his Needle-Blade, slid over to Lucanis, and shook him hard.

  “Wake up. Now.”

  Lucanis opened one eye, then the other. He didn’t need an explanation—the danger was already there. He could feel it.

  His sword was drawn in a single motion. His eyes were still half-closed, but his footing was solid.

  The footsteps were closer now. Very close.

  The camp was wedged between two rocky outcrops.

  They had no direct way out.

  Kael stepped back, weapon ready. Althéa kept her bow drawn, aiming at the entrance.

  And then—someone appeared.

  A girl.

  In a black uniform. In terrible condition, her long black hair was tangled, caked with dust. She reeked of sweat, dirt, and fear. She carried no weapon. Her nails were long, broken to the point of bleeding.

  Her knees were shaking.

  Lucanis didn’t lower his guard, but his voice stayed firm.

  “Who are you?”

  The girl lifted her eyes to him.

  Her voice was broken, hoarse—almost unreal.

  “Finally… finally people…”

  “I’ve been searching for three days…”

  “Trame Bearers…”

  She dropped to her knees, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

  And collapsed into tears.

  Three days.

  They had thought they were the only survivors. They had hidden. Been hunted. Forced into retreat.

  But in truth…

  They were the ones she had been trying to find.