"Before I descended, you chose, and each choice led you astray. I shall free you from the burden of choice. There will no longer be a thousand paths beneath its changing moon, but a single one, straight as my light which I shall fix at the Zenith."

  — Words of Solar?s, III

  Revealed to Thérion the Veiled, Year 1 of the Endless Day

  Outside, the Sun reclaimed its dominion. It ruled over Solheim with a constant and crushing radiance that weighed upon the world without ever faltering. The alleys and streets of the Southwest I zone of the Outskirts, still laden with ochre ashes and dark marks left by the knights, faded behind them as they moved away from this labyrinth of desolation.

  The majestic gate of the Southern Stairs, one of the four staircases leading to the Upper City, opened before them, protected by two sentinels of the Solar Guard. An ascent carved into rock whitened by the Sun, worn by ages of passage and furnace heat, bordered by statues of the ten thousand knights of Solar?s on each side. But before they could set foot on the first step, two children burst from a side alley. Their faces were grimy but familiar to the squadron who often crossed paths with them near the inner ramparts. Their patched clothing floated on their frail bodies, but their eyes sparkled with curiosity despite the surrounding misery.

  A little girl with dirty, tangled hair stepped forward, her bare feet brushing the burning sand.

  "Hello, Mister Paladin. It's been a long time since we saw you! Where are you coming back from? The Na?gaz quarters? Or the musicians'?" she questioned him with a thin voice piercing the heavy air before continuing her questions. "What did you do today? A patrol maybe? Or did you hunt bad guys, huh?"

  "Hello, little one," he replied, stopping beside her, softening his gaze.

  He pulled a cloth from his bag, crouched down, and wiped the grime from her face.

  "We're coming back from a simple mission. And you know very well I can't tell you exactly where."

  She watched the knight Vaan Hart carefully and could see on his sacred cloth bloodstains, still fresh.

  "I know, I know. But you killed bad guys. I'm sure of that."

  Siegfried gave her a brief nod in response.

  "In any case, as usual, you don't have any boo-boos, Mister Paladin," she said with a wide smile brightening her face.

  A boy, just as thin, stick in hand, approached in turn, his eyes scrutinizing the N'zonki with fascination.

  "It's because Juuh'ma is with him that he's never hurt, little sister. He's there to protect his brother, exactly like me!!" he called out to her, then looked at the colossus with admiration. "I bet you blocked at least a dozen attacks, right?!"

  Behind his brother, as was his habit, the colossus emitted a deep laugh, his chains tinkling lightly.

  "Not ten, kid, but almost."

  "Me too, one day, I'll be like you and they'll call me the Shield, you'll see," he retorted proudly.

  The young archer observed in silence, while Mei adjusted her hood so her face couldn't be seen, a habit she'd had since childhood. The little girl crossed her arms, her eyes passing from one to the other, lingering on the archer.

  "Buddy, where's your Feather today? I had little cakes to give her."

  "Hey, a little respect! How many times must I tell you that I'm not your buddy but a knight-archer! And besides, Feather didn't come with me today..."

  "You're not a knight, you're a child like me, look, we're almost the same height," she cut him off, standing beside him.

  "Hahahahaha!" laughed Mei through her mask that covered her face, leaving only her sparkling eyes visible.

  The young archer turned to jump on the Noohrikane, but before he could, Juuh'ma caught him in an embrace in his immense arms to calm him down. While the boy struggled, the giant spoke in his place.

  "Our young friend doesn't like being reminded of his age or his height, so in the future, call him Knight Desrosiers, can you do that for me? He is nonetheless the youngest son of Solheim in all history to have been named a knight."

  "Is what you're saying true?" she asked him, amazed.

  "You know well that N'zonki cannot lie, don't you?" he said while releasing his embrace before placing his gigantic hand on her head. "My young friend is the most gifted archer I know. If he continues on the path that Solar?s has traced for him, one day he could well become one of the Three Pillars of our King."

  "Wooooooooow," the two children said together, eyes full of sparkles.

  Under the weight of the colossus's hand, R?chard, his cheeks reddened by the compliments he had just heard, turned his gaze toward his chief. With a simple smile, he confirmed the words spoken by his brother. Which made him blush even more.

  The paladin placed the palm of his left hand back on the pommel of his longsword, his irises fixed on the Upper City.

  "It's now time to go home, children," he said with authority. "We still have work to do and cannot give you more time."

  He pulled two coins from a pouch hanging at his hip to flip them with his thumb toward the little girl.

  "Eat your fill tonight and don't forget what we taught you. Stay away from narrow alleys and always look after each other. Understood?"

  The children nodded, a wide smile illuminating their faces.

  "Promise!"

  And while the two children moved away into an adjacent alley, their light laughter fading in the breeze, under their chief's orders, the squadron finally trod the first step, saluting the sentinels as they passed.

  Eroded low walls flanked the path, their edges softened by an arid gust, winding in switchbacks toward the known heights. Under their soles, the earth trembled with ancient heat, each step vibrating like a discreet murmur in the frozen atmosphere.

  As they climbed, the panorama of the Outskirts unfolded beneath their gazes, revealing the immensity of the first circle in all its laborious complexity. This vast urban territory formed a maze of winding alleys and market squares from which rose the echo of the common people's incessant activity. Below, buildings of raw stone piled up without ornament under the implacable solar light, their bare facades bearing witness to the modest condition of their inhabitants.

  A strange multicolored canvas sky stretched above the streets—pieces of coarse fabric stretched between buildings, a derisory but vital protection against the celestial furnace that had beaten down on the city for millennia. In these corridors of relative shadow created by the protective canvases, Siegfried and his knights still glimpsed life flourishing despite the hostility of the fixed star: artisans with expert hands perpetuating traditional trades, merchants weaving commercial networks.

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  Halfway up, they now distinguished the ancestral division of eight distinct zones, heritage of times when ancient clans ruled over the lands of the Istalith continent, before the Great Exodus changed the world's order. Each sector preserved the imprint of its former masters, and the practiced eye could recognize at the heart of each territory the seigneurial manor that Thérion the Veiled, first sovereign of the Age of the Sun, had built with remarkable political wisdom. This delegation of authority allowed civil peace to be maintained while preserving ancient balances, perpetuating traditions and secular rivalries in the shadow of the great walls.

  At this increasing altitude, the nauseating odors of the Outskirts gradually faded, replaced by the fragrances of incense that rose in thick spirals from the foot of the statues of the Ten Thousand. All these laboring people formed the backbone of the kingdom, their existences unfolding in the shadow of protective canvases, there where life could still flourish despite the implacable gaze of the fixed star.

  Siegfried led the march, his longsword sheathed in his baldric weighing against his left shoulder blade, his light armor stained with dust and coagulated blood. Juuh'ma followed, his chains tinkling with each stride in a deep sound, his imposing stature casting a brief shadow on the ground in which Mei slipped, her movements almost silent.

  Knight R?chard Desrosiers brought up the rear, his bow slung across his back, his fair hair brushed by a dry gust. His gaze remained obstinately directed toward the ground—he could no longer bear the sight of this place that had seen his birth but which he detested to the highest degree. Each step climbed revived bitter memories, images of a childhood in a golden cage, of contemptuous looks from nobles who saw in him only a disappointing heir.

  The squadron finally reached the summit of the stairs, where the massive gate pierced in the white stone wall opened. Two sentinels saluted them with a nod. Beyond the threshold, the Upper City extended in its ordered splendor.

  Before they could enter the paved arteries, a familiar voice hailed them.

  "VAAN HART!"

  Siegfried turned around. A group of four knights approached with at their head a stocky man with broad shoulders, his weathered face split by a carnivorous smile.

  "Garess," Siegfried greeted with a nod.

  The eight knights faced each other, a martial camaraderie evident in their relaxed postures. Garess gave a friendly slap on Vaan Hart's shoulder.

  "Another mission in the Southern Outskirts, huh?"

  He squinted, noticing the bloodstains on his white veil.

  "How many were there this time? Twenty? Thirty?"

  "Twenty-seven," he replied laconically.

  A slender young woman with long straight chestnut hair whistled in admiration.

  "Efficient, as always."

  Then her gaze drifted toward R?chard, and a mocking smile stretched her lips.

  "And how's the little bourgeois doing? Still playing knight?"

  The young archer stiffened instantly, his fists closing. His eyes blazed with cold anger.

  "Say that again, you tall meanie with ears so pointed they'd make my arrows jealous," he retorted, staring at her.

  She wanted to retort something, but before she could, a figure slipped between them with supernatural fluidity. Mei now stood facing the woman, her eyes sparkling with visible mischief, but her voice carried an icy threat.

  "How many times must I tell you?" she asked in a light tone that contrasted with the hardness of her gaze. "Only I have the right to call him that. So if you don't want me to kill you in your sleep, don't you dare again, understood, Valcroix?"

  The young woman blinked, surprised, then burst into nervous laughter.

  "All right. All right. Message received, daughter of shadow..."

  Garess shook his head and burst out laughing.

  "BAHAHAHAHA! Did you guys hear that?! Ears so pointed like arrows, he said," he guffawed, clapping his hands, amused. "I love this ki... your archer, Siegfried. I beg you, let him go on a mission with me one day. Just one."

  "Say yes, Sieg! That way I could use them if I ever run out of arrows," R?chard added, miming Valcroix's ears.

  Everyone burst into laughter, including the young woman, and the two groups exchanged a few more words, news of patrols, rumors about growing tensions in the Outskirts, before separating. The woman with pointed ears addressed a respectful salute to R?chard, who returned it.

  "Thank you," he murmured to Mei as they walked away.

  She gave him a light tap on the shoulder.

  "No problem, my little one."

  He grimaced but didn't reply, a tiny smile touching his lips.

  They entered the white marble-paved alleys before joining the Great Avenue, majestic artery that led straight to the heart of the city. At the center of this sacred enclosure rose the Index of Solar?s. This monument of silent grandeur commanded absolute respect, a cylindrical tower carved from immaculate white stone that rose with imperturbable solemnity toward the fixed star at its zenith. This divine light uniformly bathed every corner of the world with its pure and implacable clarity.

  The first sounds that greeted them were laughter: in the gutters that lined the streets, children in immaculate clothing played with the crystalline water of the Lake of Infinity, their bursts of joy resonating against the sculpted facades.

  As they progressed along the Great Avenue, the Index revealed its perfect presence: five hundred meters in diameter equaled its height, conferring upon the edifice an impressive geometry in its simplicity. On each side of the avenue rose academies with studious vaults, temples with silent naves, and patrician residences of those ancient lineages who proudly claimed their descent from the Ten Thousand legendary heroes. The buildings aligned with perfect harmony, their facades adorned with solar motifs gilded in leaf, their glazed roofs reflecting a thousand glints under the direct light.

  The further they advanced, the more the details of the Index became precise: its smooth walls, cut from the mass, reflected the solar light in pure and austere reflections. At mid-height, an immense golden dial rhythmed Solheim's life with its perpetual mechanical rumble, its massive hands pursuing their implacable rotation in a world where time had nevertheless ceased its natural course.

  Aristocrats strolled among the columns with nonchalant grace, their light fabrics proudly displaying the coats of arms that attested to their legendary lineage, while clerics in embroidered robes conversed peacefully near the basins. Servants with soft hands drew pure water in silver urns, their delicate gestures and serene smiles offering a striking contrast with the faces hollowed by hunger and fear that the squadron had left behind the walls. Iron forged balustrades overflowed with artificial vegetation with eternal foliage, an unthinkable luxury in the lower quarters.

  The air carried refined perfumes: precious incense, rare essences distilled by alchemists, fragrances that entirely masked the stench of the Outskirts. This atmosphere of serenity and opulence enveloped the dusty warriors of Solheim who advanced with determined step toward the Index, their martial forms cutting through this world of artificial peace.

  The massive doors of the tower finally parted before them, their surfaces engraved with solar motifs. Inside, the air was cooler and drier. Their boots resonated on the pure white marble of the entrance hall, each echo reverberating in the immense space with vertiginous vaults that rose forty-five meters high. At the center of the hall stood the Grand Hourglass of Time, an imposing structure of crystal and gold thirty meters high whose elegant curves were divided into eight graduated sections. Its grains of golden sand flowed in a hypnotic and perpetual flux, and each time the sand crossed a new section, the hands of the Clock turned while the crystalline bells resonated in melodious harmony throughout the city. When the lower part filled entirely, the entire hourglass pivoted on itself in a silent mechanical ballet, thus marking the beginning of a new cycle of eight clarities—sole witness to the passage of time in this world where the Sun had not set for more than a millennium.

  They crossed quickly, their silhouettes brushing the imposing columns that supported the tower's ten floors to head toward the statue of Grand Paladin Maharik, one of the commanders of the army of the Ten Thousand, located in the upper right corner. There, between his legs, was the staircase that led to the first basement where the Headquarters of the capital's armed faction sat. They descended this great spiral staircase where mirrors, ingeniously arranged along the walls, captured the light from the hall to send it back into the depths. This light bounced from surface to surface, infiltrating through tiny orifices pierced in the walls to illuminate the closed rooms, corridors, and adjacent halls.

  In the basement, an equally vast space supported by immense columns stretched before them. They headed toward a lateral room located between the statues of R?chard's ancestors and founders of the Solar Guard, the knight-ladies Evl?ne and Mar?ne Desrosiers.

  The sober amphitheater revealed itself to them, bathed in golden light coming from a dozen beams that pierced the walls at different heights. These concentrated rays, fruits of the upper mirror system, converged toward the center of the room, creating sufficient clarity without the crushing heat of the exterior star. Dust particles danced in these luminous columns, tracing their trajectory from the small orifices to the stone floor.

  Alessi Di Fiorenze, chief of the Solar Guard and of his clan, awaited them on the platform, near an imposing table carved from volcanic rock from Forgecendre, the kingdom's main forge, located downstream of the Northern volcano. Rather thin but known for his solidity, his gray hair cut short, a scar crossing his right cheek, he scrutinized his men with brown eyes hard as steel. His cape, marked with the Order's golden sun, fell heavily on his shoulders, and a short sword hung at his waist, its worn pommel gleaming faintly. A map of Solheim spread across the wall behind him, detailing the Outskirts and all its zones.

  "Report, squadron VIII!" he growled.