They ate in silence at first.

  The meat, grilled directly on the stone, was still smoking when it reached their makeshift plates. The cuts were thick, juicy, well-cooked — an unexpected luxury after so many days of rationing.

  Kael was the first to break the silence. Mostly by chewing.

  Very loudly.

  “Could you close your mouth when you eat?” Althéa asked, without even looking up.

  “I’m savoring it,” he replied, cheeks full. “You can hear that, can’t you?”

  Lucanis shook his head with a sigh, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

  Once the meal was well underway, Lucanis set his meat aside and tapped one of the rolled hides lying near the fire.

  “These furs, slung over the shoulder… that won’t work if we have to face something serious. Too bulky. If they snag or slip, they’ll get in the way of our movement.”

  Althéa nodded slowly.

  “You want something more mobile.”

  “More stable, above all,” he corrected.

  Kael lifted his head, a smear of grease at the corner of his mouth.

  “I see where this is going…”

  Althéa immediately looked away, fixing her gaze pointedly on the fire.

  Lucanis cleared his throat, just as uncomfortable.

  “Purely utilitarian, obviously.”

  Kael looked from one to the other, narrowing his eyes.

  Then a small, crooked smile appeared.

  “So… you want cloaks. Like mine.”

  No answer.

  Just two averted gazes.

  Kael leaned back, arms spread, mockingly magnanimous.

  “I can make them for you. Of course. Since it’s strictly utilitarian, I won’t bother with style, right? A big rectangle of fur, a few holes, and that’s that.”

  “No,” Althéa said sharply.

  “No way,” Lucanis added, frowning.

  They exchanged a glance for a second, surprised to have answered in unison. Then they both immediately looked away.

  Kael burst out laughing.

  “I’m kidding. I’ll make you the same thing as mine. I’ve seen your eyes drifting to it for days. It’s been haunting you. That’s normal.”

  Lucanis didn’t reply. Althéa raised an eyebrow, but didn’t deny it.

  Kael held out his hand toward Althéa.

  “Give me your fur.”

  Althéa, still eating, stared at him, taken aback.

  “You’re not even done eating.”

  “It’s fine,” Kael said. “I want to start now.”

  She shrugged and tossed him her fur. Kael unfolded it immediately, inspected the condition of the hide, gauged the density of the hair, then looked up at Lucanis.

  “Can you lend me your knife?”

  Lucanis didn’t answer. He simply tossed the blade to him, still chewing his piece of meat slowly.

  Kael stood and stepped closer to Althéa.

  “Stand up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need to take your measurements. Unless you’d rather I weave blind. Maybe it’ll turn into something,” he added with a hint of irony.

  Althéa stood at once, arms crossed.

  Kael draped the fur over her shoulders, adjusted the panels by hand, measured with his fingertips. With the knife, he made small marks on the inside of the hide to set his references.

  “Perfect.”

  He sat cross-legged near the fire and got to work. Using the knife and strips of leather salvaged from damaged packs, he improvised. He slit, cut, braided by hand to make a strong thread, then pierced with the knife tip, knotted, pulled tight. The movements weren’t elegant, but they were sure. Every stitch held.

  Althéa watched him in silence.

  “How did you learn to do things like this?” she asked.

  “I’m a Weaver,” Kael replied without looking up. “Working with fur or animal hides is uncommon. So since I’ve got the chance, I’m taking it.”

  “A Weaver?” she said. “What’s that?”

  “Weaving is a trade practiced by women. And only women. They collect silk, fabrics, clothes that the High Lands throw into the Soléen. Then they rework them in workshops.”

  He paused briefly, his hands still busy pulling an improvised stitch tight.

  “The working conditions are harsh. It’s hot, it’s loud. There are huge bellows—you need several people climbing onto them just to make them work. The looms are heavy; it takes three people to get them moving. But they endure. They complain, they shout, they argue—but they work like they’re keeping the world turning.”

  Althéa kept eating, but she no longer spoke. She was listening.

  “Once they have the material, they spin it, braid it, sometimes dye it if they have what they need. Then they weave. They sew nonstop, mostly for the citizens. There’s no textile supply in the Broken Crown, so they do everything by hand.”

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  He looked up, his gaze softer.

  “But the most talented ones… they weave for the Lunar Dancers. Magnificent women who travel upriver every evening, adorned in the finest garments. A true spectacle. Ever since I was a child, I’ve watched them pass. Every time, they fascinated me.”

  Silence settled.

  Surprised, Althéa asked,

  “Then how is it that a man can be a Weaver, if it’s a trade reserved for women?”

  Kael stopped for a moment. His hands rested on the half-finished cloak. When he answered, his voice was lower, heavier.

  “It’s because of my mother. She was a Weaver too. Probably the best. She wove the most beautiful outfits for the Lunar Dancers. A woman respected for her work, but who never sought glory.”

  A sad twitch crossed his face.

  “She made the Master Weaver promise that if I ever wanted to do this job, I’d be allowed to. And under proper conditions. So when the urge took me, I was able to enter the Workshop.”

  He resumed sewing.

  “They’re extraordinary women, the Weavers. You should see them at work. They yell, they complain, they throw tools at each other’s heads… but they’re as tight-knit as the fingers of a hand.”

  Lucanis, who had finished eating, spoke up.

  “Is your mother dead?”

  Kael stopped again, his eyes fixed on the fire.

  “I don’t know. She disappeared one day. Without leaving any word. I must’ve been ten… maybe.”

  His voice was colder, rougher. A little lost.

  Althéa kept watching him, silent.

  Lucanis continued,

  “And your father?”

  Kael shrugged.

  “I don’t know him. My mother never spoke about him. So no. I don’t have a father.”

  He finished the last knot, cut the thread with his teeth, and stood up.

  “Stand up.”

  Althéa rose as well. Kael stepped closer and draped the cloak over her shoulders.

  “Same model as mine. One shoulder bare, the other covered. There’s a lining inside to keep the warmth in. It goes down to the calf. And it holds with two crossed straps over the chest. If you want to cover the other shoulder, you just have to pull it across.”

  Althéa adjusted the cloak. It was simple, but solid—well thought out. The balance between mobility and protection was obvious.

  She said nothing. But her expression spoke volumes.

  She tested a few movements. Raised her arms, pivoted, even crouched. The cloak followed without hindering her. The free shoulder gave her full flexibility, and the lining held the warmth well.

  A faint smile brushed her lips.

  It lasted only an instant.

  But Kael saw it.

  He looked away, feeling a small tightness rise in his chest. Not unpleasant. Just… unfamiliar.

  He turned toward Lucanis.

  “Your turn.”

  Lucanis handed him his fur without a word and stood up without being prompted.

  Kael caught it, raising an eyebrow.

  “So the big guy wants a perfectly tailored cloak too?”

  Lucanis gave a discreet smile.

  “Might as well.”

  Kael shook his head, mockingly resigned.

  “You’ve all turned into comfort lovers now or what?”

  He unfolded the fur, settled back into position, and went back to work.

  Kael began making the first cuts into Lucanis’s fur. He marked his guidelines by eye, just as he had with Althéa, his fingers stained with leather and soot.

  As he worked, he spoke in a teasing tone:

  “So. I keep talking, talking… but what about you two? Your childhoods? Your parents? Come on—let’s have a little heart-to-heart.”

  He tilted his head slightly toward Althéa.

  “You, I imagine most people already know who you are. But still—indulge me. What do you do with your life, exactly? Kill time between two executions?”

  Althéa pressed her lips together… but she answered.

  “It doesn’t bother me to tell you, Kael. And anyway, my duties are common knowledge.”

  She lifted her chin a little, her tone more measured.

  “My days follow the routine of an heiress. I can almost never do what I want. Every hour is monitored. Every decision scrutinized.”

  She paused briefly, her gaze drifting to the fire.

  “I’m forced to learn how to wield every weapon. Spears, swords, bows, halberds, knives. And every form of martial art for unarmed combat. My father—the king—is… very strict about my education. Hard. Severe.”

  Kael had slowed his movements, letting her speak without interruption.

  She continued, more softly:

  “But… here, in this canyon… it might be the first time I’ve ever felt free.”

  A brief silence. Then she added, a crooked smile on her lips, mimicking Kael’s sarcasm:

  “Of course, you still have to fight Class-S creatures to enjoy it. Nothing comes for free.”

  Kael barely lifted his eyes from the fur, a faint smirk forming.

  “Apparently sarcasm is contagious.”

  He planted the knife into the ground beside him, just long enough to massage his aching fingers.

  “And your mother, in all this?”

  Althéa paled slightly. She looked down for a moment, then shrugged.

  “Merciless. With me, at least.”

  She took a short breath.

  “She’s a real mother hen. Overprotective. She wants to control everything, anticipate everything. She’s the reason I’m so closely watched, so… restrained. Nothing escapes her.”

  Kael listened closely, his gaze fixed on her now.

  “But well…”

  Althéa straightened a little, her tone shifting. Less hard. Almost dreamy.

  “If I had to choose one thing I truly love… I’d say…”

  She lifted her chin slightly, resting two fingers beneath it.

  “What fascinates me most in life is history. The history of the world. Of civilizations. Of peoples. Of wars. Of foundations. Of mistakes.”

  A faint smile touched her lips, barely visible at the corner of her mouth.

  “It fascinates me.”

  Kael nodded softly.

  “Interesting,” he said simply.

  He made a few final adjustments, pulled on a strap, tied one last knot.

  “And there we go.”

  He rose at the same time as Lucanis, holding the cloak in his hands. Without even looking, he could feel the impatience in the hunter’s gaze—that quiet, restrained tension, discreet… but burning.

  A smile slipped onto his lips.

  “Same model as mine and Althéa’s,” he announced. “You don’t get to complain.”

  He draped the cloak over Lucanis’s shoulders, adjusted the crossed straps on his chest, checked the stitching.

  Lucanis made a few movements, testing the fall of the fabric, the freedom of his arms. He said nothing, but his expression said enough.

  Kael sat back down by the fire, legs crossed, a little tired now, fingers marked with fine cuts. He watched Lucanis study his reflection in the dark stone of the outcrop, as if he were assessing more than just a garment.

  Kael picked up the piece of meat he hadn’t finished—now lukewarm—and bit into it without ceremony. With his mouth still half full, he asked,

  “And you, Lucanis? What’s your life like?”

  Lucanis remained silent for a moment, eyes fixed on the flames.

  “A bit chaotic, lately.”

  Althéa turned toward him.

  “Why?”

  He shrugged, as if he had been expecting the question.

  “I recently learned that my father is dead. A father I never knew.”

  Kael slowed his chewing.

  “That’s… sad.”

  Lucanis shook his head.

  “If it were only that, it would be easier.”

  He lifted his eyes to them, not trying to avoid their gaze.

  “I grew up in a small hamlet, in the kingdom of Soléandre. A modest family. My mother is a hunter.”

  Kael nodded, suddenly a little more attentive.

  “That explains why you know so much.”

  “She’s the one who taught me everything, yes.”

  He paused, his expression darker.

  “But I found out that my father was an aristocrat. From one of the richest and most influential houses in the kingdom. And… it turns out I’m his only heir.”

  Silence settled in. Only the crackle of the fire seemed willing to fill the space.

  “I’m an illegitimate child,” Lucanis went on. “And now that he’s gone… that weight falls on me. Whether I want it or not.”

  Kael finished his piece of meat in silence, his gaze half lost in the flames.

  Althéa slowly turned her head toward Lucanis.

  “You said… that your father was an aristocrat. But… which house exactly?”

  Lucanis barely shrugged, as if he had been expecting the question from the start.

  “House Velcrann.”

  Althéa’s eyes widened, her body suddenly frozen. The silence dropped, sharp and abrupt.

  “You’re joking?!” she hissed, her voice caught between shock and unease. “Old Baron Velcrann is dead? Since when?”

  “A few weeks ago. I had to leave the Institute to deal with the inheritance formalities. I learned his name at the same time as his death,” Lucanis replied, his gaze drifting away.

  Kael, clearly lost, frowned.

  “Wait… what is this House Velcrann? You’re reacting like it’s… I don’t know, something huge.”

  Lucanis gave a joyless smile.

  “I don’t know much more than you do, to be honest.”

  But Althéa straightened slowly, crossing her arms.

  “It’s rather ironic, when you think about it…”

  She fixed him for a moment, her face more serious than usual.

  “That we’re here, at the bottom of a canyon, with the heir to one of the most powerful families on the entire planet…”

  Kael raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

  “Alright, but why? What do these Velcrann actually do?”

  “They control the Spatial Trame Bearers,” Althéa explained. “All those capable of manipulating space. Creating portals. Opening passages. Twisting distances. That’s them. Them alone.”

  She paused.

  “It’s a strategic position. They hold the monopoly on instantaneous travel, on communications between the highest circles of power. Remove the Velcrann… and large-scale communications collapse. The supply lines of every kingdom—raw materials, foodstuffs, everything—pass through House Velcrann.”

  Kael whistled softly, impressed.

  “Well damn. Not bad for a guy who sleeps on the ground and hunts ibex with a bow.”

  Lucanis let out a dry laugh.

  “Just goes to show how badly put together this world really is.”