At the mention of Kael’s status, the queen abruptly pulled away from her daughter.

  She turned to look at the king.

  The king, impassive, met her gaze.

  “Our information was accurate, then,” he said evenly.

  The queen, however, did not display the same composure.

  Her voice betrayed a rising anger.

  “What has gotten into you?

  Taking a liking to an Ombrevu?!”

  She made broad gestures to punctuate her words.

  “And claiming he is your friend?

  Those wretches want nothing but our downfall!”

  Althéa clenched her fists.

  “You will put an end to this unnatural relationship immediately,” the queen added, implacable.

  Losing some of her control, the princess burst out:

  “He is a good man!

  He has saved my life on numerous occasions!

  Without him, I probably wouldn’t be here!”

  The king sighed, full of contempt.

  “My daughter…

  The crown princess, saved by an Ombrevu?”

  He looked away, as if the words alone were enough to humiliate him.

  Althéa felt tears well up in her eyes.

  Her mother pressed the point further:

  “I hope no one knows about this…

  The consequences would be catastrophic.”

  She turned back to the king.

  “We need to speak to that Ombrevu. Bribe him, make sure he keeps quiet.”

  “He will refuse,” Althéa said firmly.

  Both parents turned an incredulous gaze toward her.

  “He will refuse any bribe,” she went on.

  “He is too upright for that.”

  The queen burst out laughing, mocking.

  “An Ombrevu… upright?

  I’ve heard everything now!”

  She raised her voice, furious:

  “They’re nothing but filthy wretches!

  They’d sell their own mother for two solars!”

  “You’re mistaken, Mother!” Althéa replied, matching her tone.

  “I’ve seen him in action.

  He is a good man, who doesn’t hesitate to risk his life for others!”

  She paused for a moment, weighing her words.

  Then she declared, in an uncompromising tone:

  “There is no question of me stopping seeing him.”

  The guards, stationed at the entrance of the tent, had long since drawn the curtains.

  The atmosphere had become electric.

  The queen’s face froze.

  Without warning, she slapped Althéa.

  “There is no question of my daughter taking a fancy to an Ombrevu.

  What a disgrace…”

  A tear slid down Althéa’s cheek.

  The king finally spoke, his tone sharp:

  “You will get hold of yourself, my daughter.

  You are bringing shame upon us.”

  He paused.

  “And if you stubbornly refuse to do as you are told… you will leave me no other choice.”

  Althéa jerked her head up.

  She stepped toward him, slowly but with determination.

  The guards exchanged a nervous glance.

  When she reached him, she stared straight into his eyes.

  “Don’t even think about it…”

  She challenged him with her gaze.

  The king held it, his face closed off.

  His brow had furrowed with anger.

  The queen was seething.

  But Althéa turned on her heel, without another word, and headed for the exit.

  “Althéa.”

  She stopped, turned slightly.

  “Don’t disappoint us…”

  Without replying, she left the tent.

  Althéa stepped out of the tent.

  The wind, gentle but dry, swept the last tears from her cheeks.

  She approached a guard and grabbed his sword, still in its scabbard.

  The guard did not dare say a word.

  Without a word, she headed toward the entrance of the Coliseum.

  As she passed through the hall, the smell rose in her throat.

  A mixture of sweat, fear, and vomit.

  She suppressed a gag reflex, then entered the arena.

  A vast circle of sand, roughly fifty meters in diameter, stood at the center.

  The elevated stands, still filling up, surrounded the arena like a living wall.

  Families were already settling in to observe the trial.

  Dozens of guards, accompanied by Revealed, were positioned around the arena, ready to intervene if necessary.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  They were there to put down the students who would fail… and return as Overdrawn.

  Hundreds of Trame Bearers were already gathered at the center.

  Many were trembling. Some were vomiting.

  The atmosphere was suffocating.

  She spotted Lucanis, alone, a sword at his side.

  She joined him.

  “How did the reunion go?” he asked calmly.

  “They don’t appreciate me associating with an Ombrevu.”

  Lucanis snorted.

  “Then they don’t know him yet…”

  They fell silent after the brief exchange.

  The sky was a brilliant blue, not a cloud in sight.

  The stands were filling, the arena was filling with anguish.

  Still no sign of Kael.

  Althéa, tense, nervously tapped her foot in the sand.

  “What is he doing?…”

  Up above, her parents had taken their seats at the very top of the stands, on thrones of white marble.

  Dean Ford, seated beside them, rose to his feet.

  He began a speech:

  “The time has come, young Trame Bearers.

  In a few minutes, you will—”

  A dull sound cut him off abruptly.

  Every head turned toward the entrance of the arena.

  A tall woman, with platinum-blond hair and a cloak black as ink, had just appeared on the sand.

  Under her arm…

  A young man in his underwear, saber in hand, light chestnut hair falling to his shoulders.

  His eyes, a deep black, searched for balance.

  A scar marked his right cheekbone.

  A strip of white fabric was tied to the guard of his saber.

  Kael.

  Velara called out loudly, at the center of the arena:

  “Special delivery!”

  Absolute silence.

  The entire arena stared at them, stunned.

  Kael turned toward Velara, irritated.

  “Alright, you can put me down now…

  What do I look like, here?”

  Velara realized the situation.

  “Oh. Right…”

  She let him go at once.

  Kael dropped limply into the sand, grunted, then struggled to his feet.

  “Are you serious…?

  This really isn’t the time to mess me up…”

  “Oops, sorry,” Velara said with a crooked smile.

  She vanished instantly, reappearing kneeling before the king and queen.

  “Your Majesties, forgive my lateness,” she said solemnly.

  The queen, still furious, shot back:

  “You’d better have a very good reason…”

  In the arena, the students whispered.

  “Who is that guy?”

  “He’s in his underwear…!”

  “How humiliating…”

  Two loud bursts of laughter erupted.

  Lucanis and Althéa—literally doubled over.

  Lucanis clutched his stomach, tears in his eyes.

  Althéa tried in vain to hide her face in her hands.

  She was laughing herself to tears.

  Kael walked up to them, saber in hand, an ironic smile on his lips.

  “Yeah, go on, laugh it up,” he said.

  His tone was mocking, but light.

  He stood straight beside them.

  His body, now muscular and sculpted, looked forged for war.

  His muscles radiated strength and balance.

  He scanned the stands.

  On the queen’s forehead, a vein was throbbing violently.

  She was clearly displeased by her daughter’s lack of restraint.

  After this brief interruption, the dean cleared his throat, straightened up, and continued, unperturbed:

  “As I was saying…

  In a few minutes, the Trial will begin.

  Your destiny awaits you.”

  A thunder of applause echoed through the stands.

  On the sand, the Trame Bearers trembled, pale, some on the verge of fainting.

  The minutes stretched like hours.

  Suddenly, a powerful shiver ran through the three young protagonists.

  Their bodies vibrated in unison.

  Lucanis, eyes shining, breathed:

  “That’s it… it’s happening.”

  Althéa, her face locked behind its icy fa?ade, simply replied:

  “Yes.”

  Thousands of tiny ethereal sparks then appeared across the arena.

  The air itself seemed to crackle with energy.

  Then, a rift opened in the void—and swallowed a student.

  A second rift. A third.

  One after another, the Bearers were pulled into the Immaterial.

  Kael looked at his two friends.

  They looked back at him.

  A brief, suspended instant.

  Then Kael said calmly:

  “We’ll meet on the other side.”

  They nodded.

  He lifted his eyes.

  In the stands, Velara was giving him a mysterious smile.

  Then everything vanished.

  …

  Lucanis surfaced in darkness.

  His vision was blurred, unfocused.

  Colors slowly returned, in cold, vivid waves.

  An icy wind struck his face—dry, cutting.

  By reflex, he raised a hand to his eyes.

  “Hey, man!” a male voice shouted.

  “Now’s not the time to lose it!”

  “Huh?!”

  Confusion seized him.

  The ground slipped beneath his feet.

  His clothes were heavy—soaked, stiff.

  An enormous pack weighed down his back.

  Why? he thought.

  He rubbed his eyes one last time.

  And then he saw.

  A man, dressed in a bright red suit, stood in front of him.

  He too carried a massive pack. Two small ice axes jutted from it, along with a length of rope.

  Around them: snow. White as far as the eye could see.

  And when he looked up…

  A mountain.

  An immense mountain, so tall he couldn’t see its summit.

  A colossus of ice, rock, and wind.

  Lucanis froze, stunned.

  The man in front of him stopped, his gaze furious.

  “What the hell are you doing? Move!”

  He yanked hard on a rope attached to Lucanis, making him stumble.

  Lucanis looked down: they were tied together.

  Lucanis’s mind began to thaw.

  “Wait… where are we?”

  The man, irritated, replied:

  “Are you stupid or what?

  We’re in the Himalayas!”

  …

  A deafening noise flooded her senses.

  Monstrous rumbles.

  Vibrations that ran through her bones.

  Her head was on fire.

  Her body soaked with sweat and water.

  She was breathing with difficulty.

  A metallic object was clenched in her hand.

  Her heavy boots sank into thick mud.

  She rubbed her eyes.

  Her vision returned in jolts.

  Unknown trees—immense, draped in hanging vines.

  Stifling heat.

  The smell of iron and blood.

  Bodies everywhere, sprawled across the red earth.

  “Sergeant Althéa!”

  A man’s voice shouted close to her.

  A soldier, covered in filth and blood, grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “Sergeant, give your report—now!”

  She remained frozen, her gaze empty.

  She didn’t know this man.

  But he had called her by name. And by a rank…

  Sergeant?

  She looked down at the object in her hands.

  A strange piece of metal—heavy, worn.

  A barrel, a grip, mechanisms.

  A weapon… from another world.

  “Sergeant Althéa, report! I said!”

  She didn’t answer.

  A blinding light passed overhead.

  Then another.

  Explosions erupted in all directions.

  The ground shook. Screams. Howls.

  “Get down!” the man shouted, slamming her to the ground.

  A blast rocked the air beside them.

  A searing shockwave tore through her.

  A massive metal bird tore across the sky, roaring like mechanical thunder.

  Althéa, terrified, pulled the weapon tight against herself, gasping.

  “But… where am I?!”

  The man stared at her, incredulous, drenched in sweat and mud.

  “Are you out of your mind, Sergeant?!

  We’re in Vietnam!”

  …

  Black. Silence. Then… scratching sounds.

  Soft noises, like feathers brushing paper.

  Muffled whispers from young girls and boys.

  A man’s voice—mature, calm—rang out:

  “Can anyone tell me what precedes a consequence?”

  Kael slowly opened his eyes.

  Or rather, he tried to.

  A black veil lingered over his vision, like a haze clinging to his eyelids.

  He rubbed his eyes—no use.

  He felt his clothes: tight, uniform, stiff.

  He was seated on a hard, uncomfortable chair.

  Little by little, shapes emerged.

  A small wooden desk in front of him.

  Sheets of paper, a metal object that seemed to serve as a pen.

  He lifted his head.

  About thirty youths, roughly his age, were there—seated in rows, silent.

  All of them wore the same clothes:

  White shirt, red fabric at the collar descending to the navel, elegant high-collared jacket, blue-gray trousers with fine stitching.

  Leather shoes.

  A uniform.

  Kael realized he was wearing the same one.

  The teacher’s voice rang out again:

  “Mr. Kael, can you tell us what precedes a consequence?”

  He slowly turned his head.

  A man stood there, with a calm, composed bearing.

  Same trousers as the students, white shirt, but without the red fabric.

  In its place, a small black vest.

  Short, neatly kept gray hair. A thin beard.

  Glasses.

  Kael stammered, still confused:

  “Uh… consequences are generally preceded by… by causes? Or an origin, I’d say…”

  He rubbed his temples.

  He swept the room with his gaze.

  A classroom.

  A blackboard made of a strange material loomed behind the teacher.

  To his left, a large window.

  Outside: a stretch of grass, laid out in a square, bordered by a beige path, with white lines painted across it.

  The teacher nodded, surprised:

  “That is correct, Mr. Kael. I’m surprised you were able to answer—you seemed to be asleep just a moment ago.”

  Laughter rippled through the room.

  Mocking jabs.

  Still dazed, Kael raised his hand and asked:

  “Where… exactly are we?”

  Fresh bursts of laughter.

  A male voice called out:

  “I think he’s not awake yet…”

  Another chimed in:

  “Is he stupid or what? This is high school! We’re in the middle of class, idiot!”