Kael was on his knees, short of breath, his body mangled.

  The wound on his left arm was deep, blood streaming down along it. The slightest movement tore a grimace from him. His cheek—already cut by the Class-S Overdrawn’s arrow—had split open again, a new wound forming in the exact same place. Dust, grass, and bark were embedded in his injuries.

  He braced himself on his saber to stand, then fixed his eyes on the Overdrawn he had just brought down—the largest of the group. The veil that composed it was denser than the others’.

  Kael set about skinning it. A cruel smile crept across his lips as he tore the creature’s mantle of darkness free.

  “You’re not getting away with this… After what you did to my arm, I can take this from you, right? You won’t mind.”

  He finished his macabre work, ripped a strip of veil from another Overdrawn lying nearby, and fashioned a makeshift bandage. The enormous dark veil he had recovered was wedged beneath his injured arm, dragging along the ground.

  Kael limped. His legs were on fire. The soreness was already setting in. Still, he walked—determined to return to camp. It took him a long while to make it back.

  Velara hadn’t moved. She watched him come back in a sorry state and said, in a playful tone:

  “I didn’t expect you to make it without my help. You did well.”

  Kael dropped the dark veil to the ground.

  “Next time you get an idea like that, give me a heads-up. That’d be nice.”

  “That’s the very nature of danger,” Velara replied. “It stalks you without warning. You’ll never learn to defend yourself properly if your enemies have to announce themselves before facing you.”

  Kael was about to retort when a violent cracking sound erupted from the forest. He spun around.

  A massive dark shape—nearly ten meters tall—had emerged from the trees. It was advancing slowly toward the camp.

  Kael swallowed, panicked, and called out to Velara:

  “Now that’s just not even fair!”

  Velara burst out laughing, jumped down from her rock, and landed gracefully on the ground.

  “I need to rinse off a bit. I’ll take care of this one.”

  The gigantic Overdrawn approaching them resembled those Kael had fought, wrapped in a black veil. But this one was bipedal. Their leader, Kael thought.

  Velara stepped forward—without even drawing a weapon.

  The Overdrawn accelerated, charging at her without a growl, without a rasp, without the slightest sound. Its steps were utterly silent.

  Pure silence.

  Velara came to an abrupt halt, staring straight at the creature charging toward her. Kael, meanwhile, felt the tension spike.

  Then the Overdrawn drew back its claws—obsidian-like—and hurled them toward Velara.

  And then… nothing.

  The Overdrawn exploded in a spray of black, steaming blood. Its remains splattered across the clearing, staining the bright colors of the surroundings.

  Velara hadn’t even lifted a finger.

  Kael’s jaw nearly dropped off his face. He just stood there, gaping.

  Velara stomped her foot, annoyed.

  “I didn’t even get time to hit it a little! That’s irritating!”

  “W-what… what just happened?” Kael asked, dumbfounded.

  Velara dusted herself off, eyes fixed on the bloody puddle the Overdrawn had become. Only its massive black veil hadn’t exploded along with the rest.

  “It’s just my fighting intent. It made it explode. Simple as that. It’s really starting to get on my nerves… Most of the time, I can’t even fight because of it.

  If an enemy is much weaker than me, the mere act of wanting to kill it—or even just wanting to fight—is enough to destroy it. My Elan translates my intent and projects it directly onto the target.

  I swear, Kael, it’s a real pain in everyday life!”

  Kael stared at the viscous sludge the Overdrawn had turned into, then back at Velara.

  “Uh… yeah. I don’t doubt that for a second.”

  A thin bead of sweat mixed with the blood already running down his face. His legs shaking, he thought:

  I was really lucky she didn’t actually want to kill me that day on the terrace… Otherwise, I’d literally be a puddle by now.

  Kael staggered and dropped to his knees, exhausted.

  Velara walked over to him, studied him for a moment, then said in an almost compassionate tone:

  “They didn’t go easy on you, old man.”

  Kael replied with sarcasm:

  “No kidding…”

  Velara shrugged.

  “There’s no point leaving you in this state if I want you ready in time for the Trial.”

  She knelt beside him… then slapped him with monumental force.

  Kael was literally launched off the ground and went crashing several meters away.

  He stayed on the ground for a few seconds, groaned… then sprang back to his feet. Furious, he pointed a finger at Velara.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?! Wasn’t I already beaten up enough as it is?!”

  He cut himself off, surprised. He had managed to stand up without any pain at all—when barely a minute earlier, he couldn’t even stay on his feet.

  He looked down at his body. All his wounds were gone. Not a single mark remained. Only dried blood clung to his skin.

  He blinked several times, unable to believe it.

  “But… but… how?”

  Velara straightened in turn.

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  “Let’s say I chased your injuries away.”

  She paused.

  “I literally expelled them from your body. With the slap.”

  Kael, now staring at his perfectly intact body, replied calmly:

  “Oh… okay. Well… thanks, I guess.”

  He didn’t ask any further questions and walked toward her. Velara looked him over carefully.

  “Apparently, the wound on your cheek didn’t disappear completely. That’s going to leave you a nice scar.”

  Kael shrugged.

  “No big deal. I got off easy.”

  Then, suddenly changing tone, he asked:

  “Can I ask you a question, Master?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Could I get some sewing supplies?”

  Velara burst out laughing, slightly mocking.

  “You really think we have time for sewing, seriously?”

  “I’ll remind you I almost got killed,” Kael shot back. “I’m allowed to breathe for a bit, aren’t I?”

  He walked over to the large dark fabric he had recovered earlier. He lifted it carefully, letting the folds ripple in the wind. His eyes were shining.

  “Look at this material… It’s one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. It’s incredibly fluid. And this color…”

  The veil was such a deep black that it seemed to swallow light itself. No sheen, no reflection—just a living, shifting darkness, almost liquid. It looked like ink frozen in the wind. To the touch, the fabric was cold, silky, yet strange… as if it weren’t entirely there. A texture somewhere between cloth and smoke.

  Kael’s gaze was that of a passionate child, utterly fascinated by his treasure.

  Velara watched him, intrigued.

  “If you bring me the materials, I’ll make you a cape. A real one. A beautiful one. But I’ll need proper tools to do it right.”

  Velara let out an amused breath.

  “You really think I care about a cape?”

  Kael looked at her without answering, his gaze steady—almost as if he were seeing straight through her.

  Velara held his stare, but a memory crossed her mind: the fur cloak the princess had worn after the survival lesson.

  Kael had cobbled that together with no equipment at all. So with real tools…

  Reluctantly, she gave in.

  “Fine… alright. But you make my cape first. Understood?”

  Kael nodded.

  And she vanished.

  Velara returned some time later.

  In the meantime, Kael had gone hunting. He had managed to catch that strange animal—a kind of wild boar, similar to the one Velara had been eating over the past few days. He’d had time to skin it and had started roasting a few cuts over an improvised fire.

  The moment he saw Velara reappear, Kael rushed toward her, excited like a kid.

  She was carrying an enormous trunk over her shoulder, fitted with two wide leather straps that allowed it to be worn like a backpack. She dropped it to the ground with a heavy clack, without a word.

  Kael’s eyes were shining with impatience.

  “Incredible, Master!”

  He knelt in front of the trunk, lifted the latches, and slowly opened the lid… as if unveiling an ancestral treasure.

  “By all the heavens… this is an entire workshop!”

  He took the items out one by one, placing them carefully beside him as if they were sacred:

  “Linen thread and combed cotton, already wound on wooden spools. Solid. Reliable.

  Needles of various sizes, properly sharpened, stored in a leather case—nothing like the bent junk you find in markets.

  A small set of professional scissors… look at those blades! Polished steel, hand-tightened central screw. Clean cuts, no snagging.

  Brushed metal thimbles, brand-new tailor’s chalk, an engraved wooden ruler, a pair of flat pliers, a seam ripper… this is exactly what I needed.”

  He grabbed a neatly folded piece from the bottom of the trunk and unfolded it with great care.

  “Wool broadcloth!” he exclaimed. “Thick, but supple. And here—black cotton twill, perfect for a clean lining. And even… full-grain leather, thin but tough. Do you have any idea what I can do with this?”

  He looked up at Velara, his face lit by a rare, genuine joy. He was no longer a battered fighter or a survivor at the end of his rope. He was that passionate teenager again—focused, hands full of ideas.

  “You have no idea how happy you’ve just made me.”

  Velara couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face as she watched Kael marvel like a child.

  “And you have no idea how hard it was to find all this for you,” she said. “You owe me one. I hope it’ll be worth it.”

  Kael didn’t answer. He sprang to his feet, grabbed all the tools needed for taking measurements, seized a large panel of the fabric taken from the gigantic Overdrawn, and ran off to cut it with unabashed enthusiasm. He came back to Velara, still buzzing.

  “Stand up—I’m going to take your measurements!”

  She stood. Unfortunately for him, she towered over him. Kael frowned, thought for a moment, then walked over to the stump, dragged it over, climbed onto it, and draped the fabric over her shoulders.

  With quick, precise, almost choreographed movements, he took the measurements: shoulder width, arm length, the fall of the back, total height…

  Under his fingers, he felt the firmness of Velara’s muscles. Her skin had the density of metal. He didn’t comment, but he was clearly impressed.

  “I don’t want anything too extravagant,” Velara warned. “It has to stay practical. No frills, no glitter.”

  “I figured as much,” Kael replied with a faint smile.

  He finished the measurements, sat back down on the stump, assessed the fabric with an expert eye, then immediately set to work. Velara sat nearby, intrigued. She hadn’t expected to discover that Kael was more gifted than she was at anything—and yet.

  His hands moved quickly. Every motion was fluid, natural, precise. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t correct himself. Everything followed a clear pattern, almost instinctive.

  After a moment of silence, Velara asked, thoughtful:

  “Is there someone waiting for you, back in the Broken Crown?”

  Kael, absorbed in his work, didn’t even look up.

  “Not really. There are two or three people I like over there… but they don’t really need me.”

  He paused—longer this time.

  “Well… there is one thing that bothers me. I was supposed to make a dress for a friend. I’d actually already finished it. But a guy from the Highlands came into the workshop, saw it, and absolutely insisted on buying it. So I planned to make another one… but I didn’t have time because of the Trial.”

  He let out a faint sigh.

  “That’s my only real regret, I think.”

  Kael suddenly stopped what he was doing.

  He looked up, eyes turned to the sky, his face deeply perplexed, brows knit together—as if he’d just caught hold of a detail that had been bothering him for a while.

  “Master… do you know about the Weavers? Or at least their craft?”

  Velara shook her head.

  “No. Not before the princess mentioned them when she talked about you and the cape you made for her. I’d never heard of them before that.”

  Kael lowered his gaze again, even more troubled.

  “Althéa and Lucanis didn’t know either. And you—well, the two of you, since Lucanis only just learned he’s an heir… you’re still high-ranking, well-informed people.

  So how is it possible that you’ve never heard of the Weavers?”

  “And even stranger… how is it that we received a commission coming from the Highlands?”

  This time, Velara frowned in turn, her expression growing serious. She was thinking.

  Kael continued, slowly:

  “Why would a guy from the Highlands go and place an order with the Weavers… when he already has access to the greatest tailors in all the realms?

  That makes no sense.”

  “Maybe he didn’t have the money,” Velara suggested, without much conviction.

  Kael shook his head immediately.

  “You really think a broke guy would buy a dress that elaborate? And not just anywhere—at the Weavers’? That costs a fortune, even by lower-district standards.”

  “And then there’s something else that bothers me…”

  He straightened, his gaze hardening.

  “If even the elites don’t know about the Weavers… then how could someone of a lower rank, far less informed, have even heard of them?

  That’s not something you stumble across by accident.”

  He paused, then added in a darker voice:

  “And that’s not all. That guy demanded that the person who made the dress—so, me—travel all the way to the Highlands to deliver it in person.”

  “And that’s where it really stops making sense.”

  “We, Ombrevu, can’t just go up there. Access is locked. Movement is monitored. So if that man could get around all that… he wasn’t just a rich customer.”

  He stared at a point in the void, hands clenched around the fabric, the campfire crackling softly in the background.

  “It has to be someone very high-ranking. The kind who can bend the rules whenever it suits them.”

  A silence settled in.

  Kael lowered his voice, as if afraid to speak what came next out loud:

  “But the real question… the one that hasn’t let go of me since earlier…”

  He looked back up at Velara.

  “Why?”

  Kael went on, his tone now calmer, more analytical. He spoke quickly, words chaining together as if he were trying to piece a mental puzzle back together in real time.

  “From what Connie told me, the guy came to the workshop in person.

  And originally, he wasn’t there for my dress. Connie was the one who showed it to him. He saw it… and that’s when he decided to take it.”

  He paused, eyes unfocused, then continued, darker:

  “What was he even doing in the Broken Crown?”

  “You don’t just wander around there by accident. And certainly not into a workshop without having some idea in mind.

  You don’t come all the way down just to see what people are making in the lower districts’ tailoring shops. He had to be looking for something already. Or someone.”

  Velara listened without interrupting.

  Kael was retracing the chain of events, piece by piece, as if trying to decode a hidden message. She didn’t understand half of what he was saying—not really. The details, the names, the implications… all of that slipped past her.

  But one thing struck her.

  Kael wasn’t speaking for her.

  He wasn’t even looking at her.

  He was thinking out loud, buried in his deductions like a hunter following an invisible trail.

  And despite herself, Velara felt a shiver run up her spine.

  She didn’t know why—but she found it suspicious too.