The morning after Gawi told Xheavend that her aunt was imprisoned inside a mountain, Qaritas discovered that thirteen-year-old boys were apparently more dangerous than most cosmic entities.
Not physically.
Although he was beginning to reconsider that.
No—
The danger was considerably worse.
They had opinions.
Loud ones.
And Yandaro had enough opinions to start a war.
"THAT ENGINE IS USELESS!"
Qaritas stopped walking.
Slowly turned.
And looked toward the engineering platform.
"…Wonderful."
Galathan was waking beneath an enormous pearl-colored sky.
Beyond Gawi's military encampment, the Vaerash plains stretched toward distant ivory mountains, their pale grasses swaying beneath a wind that carried a low, almost musical vibration.
The plains were singing.
Again.
Qaritas still hadn't decided whether that was beautiful or deeply concerning.
Considering that several mountains on this planet possessed teeth—
he was leaning toward concerning.
Warships hovered above the encampment.
Some were enormous.
Others were small enough to carry only a handful of soldiers.
Supply vessels descended through the clouds, their engines disturbing the silver mist drifting between the ancient trees.
Below them, soldiers moved through organized chaos.
Medical teams transported wounded survivors.
Engineers repaired damaged equipment.
Commanders argued over deployment routes.
And somewhere in the middle of it all—
Yandaro was threatening a machine.
"You can't simply increase the output!" an engineer snapped.
"Why not?"
"Because the engine will explode!"
"Then stop building engines that explode!"
"That is not how engineering works!"
"Apparently, neither is your engine!"
Qaritas closed his eyes.
Counted to three.
Opened them.
The argument had somehow become louder.
He approached.
Yandaro stood on a metal crate, surrounded by six engineers, three dismantled propulsion units, and enough scattered tools to suggest that someone had murdered a mechanical creature.
The boy's dark hair was disheveled.
There were shadows beneath his eyes.
His clothes were stained with oil.
And he was holding a metal component almost as large as his head.
Qaritas looked at it.
Then at Yandaro.
"…Should you be holding that?"
Yandaro glanced over.
"Oh. Q."
"That wasn't an answer."
"It's disconnected."
"From what?"
"The engine."
"Which engine?"
Yandaro pointed.
Qaritas followed his finger.
A large propulsion assembly sat several feet away.
Its outer casing had been removed.
Several internal components were missing.
One engineer appeared to be reconsidering every decision that had brought him here.
Qaritas nodded slowly.
"Of course."
Yandaro turned back toward the engineers.
"If we reinforce the central chamber, redistribute the thermal load, and change the secondary exhaust configuration, we can increase the output without destroying the entire system."
An elderly engineer rubbed his forehead.
"Boy, that would require rebuilding half the ship."
"Yes."
"It would take months."
"Then we should start now."
Silence.
Qaritas looked at Yandaro.
Something about those words—
made him stop smiling.
Because the boy wasn't joking.
He wasn't arguing for the pleasure of arguing.
He genuinely believed they should begin.
Even if the work took months.
Even if it took years.
Even if everyone standing around him thought he was impossible.
Qaritas stepped closer.
"What exactly are you building?"
Yandaro's expression changed.
The irritation remained.
But something else appeared beneath it.
Purpose.
"A battleship."
Qaritas glanced toward the enormous warships overhead.
"…We have those."
"Not like this."
Yandaro jumped down from the crate.
He grabbed a sheet of translucent material from a nearby table.
A projection flickered to life.
It showed a vessel.
Long.
Heavily armored.
With multiple propulsion systems, reinforced compartments, and several structures Qaritas couldn't identify.
The ship was enormous.
Far larger than anything currently stationed above the encampment.
Qaritas stared.
"…Yandaro."
"What?"
"Why does your ship look like it intends to invade a universe?"
"Because it might have to."
A pause.
Qaritas looked at him.
Yandaro continued before he could speak.
"Most evacuation ships aren't built for combat. They carry people away from danger, but if an enemy catches them before they escape, they can't defend themselves."
He enlarged the projection.
"Warships can fight, but they don't have enough room to evacuate entire settlements."
Another section illuminated.
"So I want both."
Qaritas studied the design.
"A warship that evacuates civilians?"
"A warship that protects civilians," Yandaro corrected. "Thousands of them. Maybe more, depending on how we arrange the interior."
He pointed toward several enormous chambers.
"Medical facilities. Food storage. Water purification. Emergency housing. Repair stations."
Then—
the weapons.
Rows of them.
Qaritas raised an eyebrow.
"…That's an alarming number of cannons."
"It's not enough."
"Of course it isn't."
"If we're evacuating people, the enemy will try to stop us. So the ship needs enough firepower to keep them away."
"And after the evacuation?"
Yandaro looked at him.
"We go back."
Qaritas blinked.
"Back?"
"For the others."
The boy said it as though the answer were obvious.
As though there couldn't possibly be another.
Qaritas looked at the projection.
Then at the thirteen-year-old standing beside it.
Yandaro had lost his father.
His home had been torn apart.
His world had become another battlefield in a war that seemed determined to consume everything it touched.
And somehow—
the boy had decided to build something that would carry other people out of the destruction.
Not because it would bring his father back.
Not because it would erase what happened.
But because somewhere—
someone else might still be saved.
Qaritas swallowed.
"…It's a good design."
Yandaro narrowed his eyes.
"You haven't even looked at the propulsion system."
"I've looked at the important part."
"Which part?"
"The reason you're building it."
Yandaro went quiet.
Only briefly.
Then he looked away.
"…The propulsion system is still terrible."
Qaritas smiled.
"There he is."
But as Yandaro returned to arguing with the engineers—
Qaritas felt something cold settle beneath his ribs.
Because somewhere among his possessions—
was a machine this child had not yet built.
The Chromelock.
A device capable of reaching backward through time.
A machine that would change the Third Universe's future by interfering with its past.
And somehow—
Yandaro and Iezel would eventually become responsible for its creation.
Qaritas knew that much.
He knew the names.
He knew the machine existed.
He knew what it could do.
But he didn't know when it would be created.
He didn't know what circumstances would bring Yandaro and Iezel together.
And he certainly didn't know how the exhausted boy currently threatening to redesign an engine would become someone capable of constructing a machine that challenged time itself.
Thirteen.
He was thirteen.
And somewhere ahead of him—
waited a future Qaritas was already carrying.
How?
The question troubled him.
Had that future already happened?
Or was the future still being created?
And if Qaritas knew something about Yandaro's destiny—
would that knowledge change it?
Would telling him help?
Or destroy the very circumstances that made the Chromelock possible?
Qaritas watched the boy.
What happens to you?
No answer came.
Only the sound of an engineer shouting—
"YOU CANNOT ATTACH A SECOND REACTOR THERE!"
"THEN MOVE THE FIRST ONE!"
Qaritas sighed.
"…I should probably leave before someone dies."
Yandaro found him several minutes later.
Qaritas was standing beside one of the departure platforms, watching soldiers load equipment into a transport vessel.
He heard footsteps approaching.
Small.
Quick.
Determined.
Then—
"You're leaving."
Qaritas turned.
Yandaro stood several feet away.
His arms were folded.
His expression was carefully neutral.
Too neutral.
Qaritas nodded.
"Lamentis."
"Another planet?"
"Apparently."
"Dangerous?"
"Almost certainly."
"Then why are you going?"
"Because someone needs help."
Yandaro looked down.
For several moments, neither spoke.
Then—
"Are you coming back?"
Qaritas opened his mouth.
Stopped.
He could have said yes.
It would have been easy.
A simple word.
Something reassuring.
Something the boy clearly wanted to hear.
But Qaritas had seen too much to believe that wanting to return guaranteed anything.
He thought of Gawi.
Of the worlds she couldn't save.
Of the people whose names she still remembered.
And of the promise she had made—
When I can act, I act.
Qaritas looked at Yandaro.
"I intend to."
Yandaro frowned.
"That's not the same thing."
"…No."
"People intend to do lots of things."
Qaritas said nothing.
Yandaro's fingers tightened around his sleeves.
"Sometimes they don't get to."
The words were quiet.
Much quieter than the arguments he'd been having with the engineers.
And somehow—
they hurt more.
Qaritas crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to the boy's height.
"Then build something capable of coming to find me if I don't."
Yandaro looked up.
He considered that.
Seriously.
Then—
"I'd have to make it very big."
"Apparently."
"And heavily armed."
"Concerning."
"With enough firepower to destroy whatever kidnapped you."
"Now I'm concerned about the kidnapping."
"You should be."
Qaritas smiled.
"I'll try to make your engineering career less expensive."
Yandaro's mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
Then he reached into his pocket.
Pulled out a small metal object.
And held it toward Qaritas.
Qaritas looked down.
"…What's that?"
"A locator."
"A what?"
"A locator."
"I heard you."
"Then why did you ask?"
"Because I was hoping you'd say something less suspicious."
Yandaro rolled his eyes.
"It's a prototype. It can transmit a signal through several kinds of interference. Not all of them. I'm still working on that."
Qaritas accepted it.
The device was small.
Roughly the size of his thumb.
Its casing was uneven, and several tiny components remained visible along the sides.
A faint blue light pulsed beneath its surface.
"You made this?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Last night."
Qaritas stared.
"…Did you sleep?"
Yandaro avoided his eyes.
"Some."
"How much?"
"Enough."
"That's not a number."
"Neither is some."
Qaritas sighed.
The boy was going to be impossible.
He was already impossible.
"Thank you."
Yandaro shrugged.
"Don't lose it."
"I'll try."
"And don't break it."
"Less confident about that."
"And if you do break it, bring the pieces back."
Qaritas smiled.
"Anything else?"
Yandaro hesitated.
Then shook his head.
"No."
Qaritas stood.
Turned toward the departure platform.
And began walking.
He'd taken perhaps six steps when—
"Q?"
He stopped.
Looked back.
Yandaro stood exactly where he'd left him.
His hands were clenched at his sides.
"Don't die."
Qaritas considered mentioning that his body could regenerate injuries most beings wouldn't survive.
He considered explaining that death was considerably more complicated for an Ascendant.
He considered making a joke.
Instead—
he slipped the locator into his pocket.
"I'll make an effort."
Yandaro nodded.
And Qaritas walked away.
Behind him—
the boy returned to the engineering platform.
A moment later, Qaritas heard—
"WHY IS THE REACTOR STILL THERE?!"
He smiled.
Keep building, Yandaro.
Please.
The Teeth Beneath stretched across Galathan's distant horizon.
Ivory formations rose from the earth like mountains.
Except they weren't mountains.
Not entirely.
Some belonged to the enormous thing sleeping beneath the planet's surface.
A creature so vast that entire civilizations had risen and fallen upon its body without understanding what lay beneath them.
Qaritas sat on a stone overlooking the plains.
The wind moved through the silver grasses.
Far below, the military encampment continued preparing for departure.
For a while—
he simply watched.
Then he lowered his gaze.
And thought about the presence sleeping inside him.
Brother.
Nothing.
Qaritas waited.
He wasn't sure why.
Eon hadn't answered him in some time.
But habit was a stubborn thing.
Especially when that habit involved an ancient cosmic horror who had once treated the inside of Qaritas's mind like his personal entertainment chamber.
I don't know whether I'm making the right choice.
Silence.
Qaritas looked toward the horizon.
You would probably tell me there isn't one.
Nothing.
Or you'd laugh.
A pause.
You'd definitely laugh.
He could almost imagine it.
That terrible amusement.
The casual cruelty.
The infuriating certainty with which Eon approached matters Qaritas barely understood.
There had been a time when Qaritas would have given almost anything for silence.
A single day without Eon's commentary.
Without his jokes.
Without the occasional suggestion that murder would solve a perfectly ordinary inconvenience.
Now—
he had silence.
And he hated how empty it felt.
Qaritas rested his elbows on his knees.
I know you're still there.
Deep beneath his ribs—
the presence remained.
Immense.
Ancient.
Unfathomable.
Sleeping.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But distant.
I wonder if you can hear me.
The wind stirred his hair.
I wonder if you're dreaming.
A pause.
Do beings like you dream?
He almost laughed.
Eon would have found the question insulting.
Or amusing.
Possibly both.
Qaritas looked down at his hands.
I'm leaving again.
Another world.
Another problem.
Another person who needs saving.
He exhaled.
I don't know if I'm getting better at any of this.
The silence continued.
Goro would say I'm improving.
A pause.
Then he'd probably hit me.
That earned a faint smile.
But it disappeared quickly.
Brother…
Qaritas lowered his head.
Are we ever going to speak again?
Nothing answered.
Not a whisper.
Not a laugh.
Not even the faintest movement of that terrible consciousness.
Qaritas sat there a little longer.
Then stood.
Because Eon wasn't going to tell him what to do.
And perhaps—
that meant Qaritas would have to decide for himself.
"You're distracted."
Qaritas nearly stepped off the path.
He turned.
Gawi stood behind him.
Four arms folded.
Blood-crystal wings resting against her back.
Her permanent smile stretched across a face that possessed no eyes.
Qaritas stared.
"…Do you enjoy appearing behind people?"
"Yes."
"At least you're consistent."
"Walk with me."
He hesitated.
"Am I in trouble?"
"Not yet."
"That's reassuring."
Gawi turned.
Qaritas followed.
They walked along a narrow path between pale stone formations, away from the busiest sections of the encampment.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then—
"How are you?"
Qaritas looked at her.
"…What?"
"How are you?"
He frowned.
"Physically?"
"No."
"Mentally?"
"Yes."
"Emotionally?"
"Unfortunately."
Qaritas stared.
"…Who are you, and what have you done with Gawi?"
Her smile didn't change.
"My husband has been sending me reports."
Qaritas stopped walking.
"…Goro?"
"Yes."
"Your husband?"
"Yes."
"The enormous, terrifying creature who considers broken bones a teaching opportunity?"
"That one."
Qaritas slowly rubbed his face.
"Oh, no."
Gawi continued walking.
He hurried after her.
"What did he say?"
"That you're improving."
Qaritas blinked.
"He said that?"
"Yes."
"Those exact words?"
"Approximately."
Qaritas narrowed his eyes.
"What were the actual words?"
Gawi paused.
Then—
"He said you had become considerably less likely to die through preventable stupidity."
Qaritas stared.
"…That sounds more like him."
"He also said your reactions have improved."
"Did he?"
"Your balance."
"Really?"
"Your awareness."
Qaritas straightened slightly.
"And?"
"Your ability to recognize when you're about to do something foolish."
He smiled.
"See? That's progress."
"He said you still do it anyway."
"…There it is."
Gawi continued walking.
Qaritas followed, muttering something deeply unflattering about ancient commanders.
Then she asked—
"Do you trust your instincts?"
Qaritas considered the question.
"More than I used to."
"Why?"
"Because Goro spent ten years making sure I regretted every occasion I ignored them."
"An effective method."
"A cruel method."
"Both can be true."
Qaritas sighed.
"I suppose."
Gawi stopped beside a tall stone pillar.
The wind moved through the grasses around them.
"Show me."
Qaritas frowned.
"Show you what?"
"How much you've learned."
He glanced around.
"…Here?"
"Yes."
"Now?"
"Yes."
"Without warning?"
Gawi said nothing.
Qaritas stared.
Then—
something moved.
A flicker.
A whisper of displaced air.
His body reacted before he understood why.
He twisted.
A knife passed his shoulder.
And struck the stone behind him.
THUNK.
Qaritas froze.
Slowly looked at the blade.
Then at Gawi.
"…You threw a knife at me."
"Yes."
"While we were having a conversation."
"Yes."
"About my emotional well-being."
"Correct."
Qaritas opened his mouth.
A second knife came.
He caught it.
Barely.
The blade stopped inches from his throat.
He stared at it.
Then at her.
"GAWI!"
"Better."
"BETTER?!"
A third knife flashed toward him.
Qaritas ducked.
The blade passed over his head.
He straightened.
"Would you stop—"
Gawi moved.
Not toward him.
Around him.
Her four arms shifted.
Qaritas felt the change before he saw it.
A tightening in the air.
A subtle redistribution of weight.
The faintest scrape of her foot against stone.
He stepped sideways.
Another knife missed.
Then another.
He twisted.
Caught one.
Avoided another.
For several seconds—
the world became movement.
Pressure.
Breath.
Intention.
His body recognized things his mind hadn't yet named.
The angle of Gawi's shoulder.
The tension in her wrist.
The direction of her weight.
He moved before she released the next blade.
And smiled.
"Ha!"
Gawi's head tilted.
Qaritas immediately regretted smiling.
Something struck his cheek.
A sharp line of pain.
He staggered backward.
Touched his face.
Blood.
A shallow cut.
Another knife had passed close enough to graze him.
He stared at his fingers.
Then at Gawi.
"…I hate your family."
"My husband says that frequently."
"About me?"
"About everyone."
Qaritas sighed.
The cut began closing.
Gawi watched him.
"Your reactions have improved."
"Thank you."
"You still assumed you had identified every threat."
Qaritas's smile faded.
Gawi approached.
"Your body recognized my movements. Your senses detected changes in pressure, balance, and intention."
She stopped in front of him.
"But you became confident."
Qaritas looked away.
"You thought understanding one attack meant you understood the next."
"…Yes."
"And when you believed you had won—"
"I stopped paying attention."
"Exactly."
Qaritas glanced toward the knives embedded in the stone.
Gawi followed his attention.
"Goro awakened the foundation of something valuable in you."
Qaritas looked back.
"Instinct?"
"More than instinct. Awareness that operates before conscious recognition."
She folded her upper arms.
"But it is not omniscience."
"I know."
"Do you?"
Qaritas hesitated.
Gawi's smile remained unchanged.
"An enemy can hide their intention."
Silence.
"They can suppress their presence."
Another pause.
"They can make a familiar movement."
Qaritas frowned.
"Familiar?"
"Yes."
"Why would that matter?"
"Because your body learns what danger feels like."
Gawi stepped closer.
"And it also learns what safety feels like."
Qaritas watched her.
"The most dangerous opponent isn't always the one your instincts recognize as a threat."
"Then what is?"
Gawi answered without hesitation.
"The one they recognize as safe."
The wind passed between them.
Qaritas looked toward the distant camp.
Something about those words—
made him uneasy.
He couldn't explain why.
Gawi turned.
"Come."
Qaritas followed.
After several steps, he glanced at her.
"…You could have just explained that."
"Yes."
"Without throwing knives."
"Yes."
"Without cutting my face."
"Yes."
Qaritas stared.
"Then why didn't you?"
Gawi's permanent smile remained exactly where it had always been.
"Because you remembered the lesson."
Qaritas looked toward the sky.
"…I really hate your family."
Xheavend was checking her weapons.
Again.
Qaritas stood in the doorway of the equipment chamber and watched her.
A silver-gray cloak rested across a nearby table.
Several blades lay beside it.
Her traveling equipment had been arranged with almost unnatural precision.
And beneath her clothing—
the Bloodglass Marrow Gawi had given her continued its work.
It wouldn't sever Yzer's connection completely.
Nothing so simple.
But it would make the road through her blood harder for him to follow.
A little more privacy.
A little more distance.
A little more control over something that should always have belonged to her.
Qaritas watched Xheavend lift one of her knives.
Inspect the blade.
Return it to its sheath.
Then remove it again.
"…You've checked that one four times."
She didn't look up.
"Five."
"That's worse."
"Depends."
"On what?"
"Whether something's wrong with it."
Qaritas leaned against the doorway.
"Is there?"
"No."
"Then why—"
"Q."
He stopped.
Xheavend set the knife down.
Slowly.
Then looked at him.
"…I'm nervous."
Qaritas blinked.
That wasn't what he'd expected.
Not because Xheavend never admitted fear.
She did.
Sometimes.
Usually after a considerable amount of arguing.
But there was something different about this.
He stepped inside.
"About Lamentis?"
She nodded.
"Yzer?"
A pause.
"Not exactly."
Qaritas glanced toward her equipment.
Then back at her.
"…Your aunt."
Xheavend's expression changed.
There it was.
The answer.
She sat on the edge of the table.
For several moments, she stared at her hands.
Then—
"I know my father's family."
Qaritas nodded.
"Everyone knows your father's family."
"Unfortunately."
"Especially after meeting all your brothers."
She almost smiled.
Almost.
"My uncles argue about everything."
"I noticed."
"My aunts are worse."
"I also noticed."
"One of my father's relatives once started a fight because someone insulted the arrangement of flowers at a banquet."
Qaritas blinked.
"…Was the arrangement bad?"
"Terrible."
"Then I understand."
Xheavend snorted.
But the sound faded.
She looked down.
"Mother's family is different."
Qaritas said nothing.
"I know their names."
A pause.
"Some of them."
She rubbed her thumb against her palm.
"But I don't know them, Q."
He moved closer.
Xheavend continued.
"Mother never talked about them much."
Her voice softened.
"Sometimes I'd ask."
She swallowed.
"She'd smile. Tell me a little story. Something about when she was young."
A pause.
"Then she'd change the subject."
Qaritas listened.
"And Tavran…"
She shook her head.
"He never talks about them either."
"Your eldest brother?"
"Yes."
"Have you asked him?"
"Of course."
"What did he say?"
"That there are things Mother will explain when she's ready."
Qaritas exhaled quietly.
Xheavend gave a humorless laugh.
"Which is Tavran's way of saying absolutely nothing."
"That does sound like him."
"I used to think he'd never met them."
She looked toward the window.
"But now…"
Her fingers tightened.
"Now I'm going to meet one."
Qaritas sat beside her.
Neither spoke for a while.
Then Xheavend asked—
"What if she doesn't like me?"
He looked at her.
"…What?"
"My aunt."
"Marasailyn?"
"Yes."
"Why wouldn't she?"
"I don't know."
Xheavend's expression tightened.
"That's the problem."
She drew a slow breath.
"I know one of Mother's brothers betrayed her."
Qaritas went still.
"He gave her to Ecayrous."
Her voice lowered.
"And Father eventually found her."
Qaritas didn't answer.
Because he remembered.
Taeterra.
The healing ward.
The stained-glass windows.
Rnarah sitting beside his bed.
Her voice as she spoke about the brother who had opened her universe to Ecayrous.
About Mrajeareim.
About the flesh rings.
About the terrible things that followed.
And Zcain—
following the overwhelming Sin until he found her.
Qaritas remembered more than Xheavend knew.
Much more.
But those memories belonged to a conversation she had never witnessed.
Rnarah had trusted him with something deeply personal.
And he would not betray that trust simply because the truth was difficult to carry.
Especially when the questions Xheavend was asking—
were questions he couldn't answer.
He knew about the betrayal.
He knew what Rnarah had endured.
But he didn't know what her other siblings had done.
Whether they searched.
Whether they tried to help.
Whether they had been powerless.
Or whether something else had happened.
Xheavend looked at him.
"What if they knew?"
Qaritas's chest tightened.
"What?"
"What if Mother's family knew what was happening?"
Her eyes lowered.
"What if they could have helped her?"
Silence.
"What if they didn't?"
Qaritas watched her.
He wanted to say something reassuring.
Something certain.
Something that would make the fear disappear.
But certainty was a dangerous gift when it was built on ignorance.
"I don't know what you'll find," he said.
Xheavend's expression fell.
"I know."
"But whatever happened between your mother and her family…"
He paused.
"You don't owe them anything simply because you're related."
She looked up.
Qaritas continued.
"If Marasailyn is kind to you, that's good."
A pause.
"If she isn't, you don't have to accept it."
Xheavend stared.
"And if she wants something from you?"
He shrugged.
"Then she can ask."
"What if she expects me to help because she's my aunt?"
Qaritas looked at her.
"Then she can still ask."
A faint smile appeared.
"You're terrible at comforting people."
"Goro trained me."
"That explains everything."
Qaritas smiled.
Then his expression softened.
"Xheavend."
She looked at him.
"You can help someone without giving them ownership of you."
The smile disappeared.
Not because she disliked the words.
Because she understood them.
Perhaps too well.
Qaritas reached toward her hand.
Stopped.
Waited.
Xheavend looked at him.
Then placed her hand in his.
He squeezed gently.
"We'll find out who she is."
A pause.
"Together."
Xheavend stared at their hands.
Then nodded.
"…Together."
"Absolutely not."
Qaritas stopped walking.
Looked toward the departure platform.
And immediately understood that his morning was about to become considerably worse.
Gawi stood beside the transport vessel.
Two figures waited with her.
One male.
One female.
Both possessed an unmistakable celestial presence.
The man stood with his arms folded.
His hair burned in shades of reddish orange, though no actual flame touched it.
His golden skin carried a warmth that seemed almost physical.
His eyes were sharp.
Assessing.
Unimpressed.
He wore dark, fitted combat attire reinforced with gold-lined armor.
Every strap sat precisely where it belonged.
Every weapon was secured.
Every movement appeared deliberate.
Beside him stood a woman whose beauty possessed an entirely different quality.
Her pale, star-speckled skin glowed with soft lunar radiance.
Long, light-blue hair fell in carefully arranged waves, threaded with silver ornaments that resembled tiny crescent moons.
Her gray eyes were calm.
Observant.
And beneath that gentleness—
Qaritas sensed something extraordinarily dangerous.
A cold so deep it seemed capable of quieting stars.
Xheavend stopped beside him.
"Oh."
Qaritas glanced at her.
"You know them?"
"Yes."
"Should I be worried?"
"Probably."
Wonderful.
Gawi turned toward them.
"Good. You're here."
Qaritas pointed at the twins.
"Why are they here?"
The man answered before Gawi could.
"Because apparently you require supervision."
Qaritas stared.
"…Excuse me?"
The woman sighed.
"Ylaris."
"What?"
"Be polite."
"I was."
"That concerns me," Qaritas muttered.
Gawi gestured toward them.
"Ylaris, Ascendant of the Suns. Kysena, Ascendant of the Moons."
Qaritas looked between them.
"Twins?"
"Yes," Kysena answered warmly.
Ylaris added—
"I'm older."
Kysena closed her eyes.
"By several minutes."
"Still older."
"You've been mentioning that for centuries."
"Because it's remained true."
Qaritas slowly turned toward Xheavend.
"…They're definitely related."
She nodded.
"Unfortunately."
Kysena smiled.
"It's good to see you again, Xheavend."
Xheavend approached her.
The two embraced.
Qaritas watched.
Kysena's expression softened.
"How have you been?"
Xheavend hesitated.
Then—
"Complicated."
Kysena's smile became gentler.
"I imagine."
Ylaris, meanwhile, was studying Qaritas.
Not casually.
Not curiously.
Like a commander inspecting a weapon he wasn't convinced had been properly forged.
Qaritas noticed.
"…Can I help you?"
"You trained under Goro."
"Unfortunately."
"Ten years?"
"Approximately."
"And you're still alive."
"Against considerable opposition."
Ylaris looked him over.
Then—
"Fight me."
Qaritas blinked.
"…What?"
"I want to see whether his training was worth the effort."
Kysena closed her eyes.
"Brother."
"What?"
"We're preparing for a rescue mission."
"This will take five minutes."
Qaritas folded his arms.
"Confident."
Ylaris's expression didn't change.
"Optimistic."
Qaritas stared.
Then smiled.
"Oh, I don't like you."
"The feeling is becoming mutual."
Gawi's smile remained fixed.
"Excellent."
Everyone looked at her.
She continued.
"You'll be working together."
Qaritas looked horrified.
"…All four of us?"
"Yes."
"On purpose?"
"Yes."
"Can I appeal?"
"No."
Kysena stepped forward.
"We know Lamentis. We've fought Yzer's forces throughout the Third Universe, and we've encountered several types of Eyes."
Ylaris added—
"We also know how older Ascendant prisons are constructed."
Kysena nodded.
"Some seals respond to bloodlines. Others to divine essence, memory, or agreements made between their creators."
"And Marasailyn's prison?" Qaritas asked.
Gawi's smile remained.
"Requires her sons."
Ylaris looked toward the vessel.
"Which means we need to reach them before whoever is attacking their territories does."
Qaritas frowned.
"Someone's attacking them?"
"We'll discuss that aboard," Gawi said.
Then Ylaris looked back at Qaritas.
"After the match."
Qaritas sighed.
"…You're serious."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Goro commanded the First Division."
A pause.
"And I want to know what ten years under him produced."
Qaritas stared.
Then slowly smiled.
"Oh."
Ylaris narrowed his eyes.
"What?"
"You're curious."
"I'm assessing."
"You're curious."
"Don't mistake interest for admiration."
"Don't worry. I wasn't planning to."
Kysena rubbed her forehead.
Xheavend looked between them.
Then muttered—
"Children."
Qaritas turned.
"Excuse me?"
"Both of you."
Ylaris frowned.
"I'm considerably older than—"
"That makes it worse," Kysena interrupted.
Qaritas grinned.
"I like her."
Ylaris looked irritated.
Good.
Qaritas was beginning to enjoy this.
The argument about the match somehow became an argument about the mission.
Qaritas wasn't entirely sure how.
He suspected Ylaris.
Ylaris suspected Qaritas.
Xheavend blamed both of them.
Kysena appeared to be considering abandoning the mission before it began.
Then Ylaris said—
"We should make it interesting."
Qaritas raised an eyebrow.
"How?"
"A competition."
Xheavend groaned.
"No."
Ylaris ignored her.
"Throughout the mission. Whoever contributes the most wins."
Qaritas considered that.
"…Define contributes."
"Enemies defeated. Commanders captured. Settlements liberated."
Kysena's expression sharpened.
"Civilians rescued."
Ylaris nodded.
"Obviously."
"Prisoners freed," Xheavend added.
"Agreed."
"Alliances established," Qaritas said.
Ylaris looked at him.
"Those count?"
"Of course."
"Why?"
"Because convincing someone to help us without stabbing them seems like an achievement."
Kysena smiled.
"A significant one."
Ylaris considered.
Then nodded.
"Fine."
Within minutes, the four had established a ridiculous scoring system.
One point for defeating an enemy combatant.
Five for neutralizing a dangerous commander.
Three for rescuing a civilian.
Five for freeing a prisoner.
Ten for establishing an alliance.
Fifteen for liberating a settlement.
Kysena immediately added restrictions.
"No points for unnecessary killing."
Ylaris looked at her.
"I wasn't planning to—"
"And no creating dangerous situations so you can rescue people from them."
Qaritas slowly turned toward Ylaris.
"…Was that a possibility?"
"No."
Kysena stared at her brother.
He sighed.
"No."
"Defeating someone means stopping the threat," she continued. "Capture, disarmament, incapacitation, or lethal force only when necessary."
Xheavend nodded.
"And no risking civilians for points."
"Agreed," Qaritas said.
Ylaris folded his arms.
"Fine."
Kysena studied him.
"You were planning to count bodies."
"I was planning to count victories."
"There's a difference."
"I know."
"Do you?"
Qaritas grinned.
"I really like her."
Ylaris looked at him.
"Stop saying that."
Then Xheavend spoke.
"I'm joining."
Qaritas turned.
"…What?"
"The competition."
"You called it childish."
"It is."
"Then why—"
"Because I'm going to win."
Silence.
Qaritas stared.
Ylaris raised an eyebrow.
Kysena laughed.
Then—
"I'll join too."
Ylaris looked at his sister.
"You?"
"Yes."
"You don't like competitions."
Kysena smiled sweetly.
"I don't like losing them either."
Qaritas looked at all three.
Then toward Gawi.
"…You arranged this."
Gawi said nothing.
Which was somehow worse than an admission.
The training grounds were large.
They needed to be.
A circular platform of dark stone stretched across the eastern section of the encampment, surrounded by reinforced barriers and observation towers.
Soldiers gathered along the perimeter.
Some watched with curiosity.
Others recognized the participants and immediately began moving farther away.
Qaritas noticed.
"…That's encouraging."
Xheavend adjusted her sleeves.
"Relax."
"People are evacuating the area."
"They're being cautious."
"Someone just carried away a building."
"It was temporary."
Qaritas stared.
"…That doesn't help."
Gawi stood at the edge of the platform.
"Rules."
All four turned toward her.
"No divine powers."
Ylaris nodded.
"No solar energy."
"Understood."
"No lunar abilities."
Kysena inclined her head.
"No Void."
Qaritas sighed.
"Fine."
"No Apocalypse or Genesis."
Xheavend nodded.
"No supernatural healing during the match. No lethal strikes. No destroying the training grounds."
Gawi paused.
Then looked directly at Qaritas.
"That last rule is primarily for you."
Qaritas looked offended.
"I haven't destroyed anything."
"Today."
"Unfair distinction."
Ylaris removed his outer armor.
Kysena tied her hair back.
Xheavend rolled her shoulders.
Qaritas glanced between them.
"…So how are we doing this?"
Ylaris pointed at him.
"You and Xheavend."
Then at himself and Kysena.
"Against us."
Qaritas smiled.
"Oh."
He looked at Xheavend.
She looked back.
And something passed between them.
Recognition.
Amusement.
A shared understanding born from years of surviving things that should have killed them.
Xheavend grinned.
"Try not to embarrass me."
Qaritas scoffed.
"I was about to say the same thing."
"Then don't."
"Excellent advice."
Across the platform, Ylaris watched them.
Kysena stood beside him.
"Don't underestimate them," she murmured.
"I won't."
"Especially Xheavend."
"I know."
"And Qaritas—"
"I know who he is."
Kysena glanced at her brother.
"Knowing who someone is and knowing what they can do are different things."
Ylaris's expression remained unreadable.
"Then I'll learn."
Gawi raised one hand.
The soldiers quieted.
Qaritas shifted his weight.
Xheavend lowered her stance.
Ylaris stood perfectly still.
Kysena breathed out.
Then—
"Begin."
Ylaris vanished from Qaritas's immediate line of sight.
Not through divine power.
Through movement.
Fast.
Precise.
Terrifyingly efficient.
Qaritas barely raised his arm before a strike slammed against his guard.
THUD.
He staggered backward.
"…Oh."
Ylaris attacked again.
A short punch.
A low kick.
An elbow aimed toward Qaritas's ribs.
Qaritas blocked two.
The third struck.
Pain flashed through his side.
He twisted away.
Ylaris followed.
No wasted motion.
No dramatic flourish.
Every movement served a purpose.
Every strike created an opening for the next.
Qaritas gritted his teeth.
Wonderful.
He's one of those.
Across the platform—
Xheavend was having a similar problem.
Kysena moved with extraordinary grace.
But there was nothing delicate about her technique.
She controlled distance.
Angles.
Timing.
Whenever Xheavend tried to close in, Kysena shifted just enough to make the attack miss.
Whenever Xheavend retreated, Kysena occupied the space she'd abandoned.
She wasn't simply fighting Xheavend.
She was deciding where Xheavend was allowed to stand.
Xheavend ducked a strike.
Countered.
Kysena redirected her wrist.
Stepped behind her.
And nearly swept her legs.
Xheavend jumped away.
"…You're annoyingly good at this."
Kysena smiled.
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I chose to accept it."
Meanwhile—
Ylaris punched Qaritas in the stomach.
Qaritas wheezed.
"…Rude."
"Your guard dropped."
"I was breathing."
"Do both."
Qaritas snarled.
He attacked.
Ylaris slipped aside.
Caught his arm.
Turned.
And sent him sliding across the stone.
Qaritas caught himself before falling.
Barely.
He looked up.
Ylaris stood several feet away.
Waiting.
"…I hate you."
"Focus."
Qaritas rose.
His breathing slowed.
He could hear Goro.
Not literally.
But the memory was so vivid that it might as well have been the old monster standing behind him.
Your eyes are useful.
They are also impatient.
Stop waiting to see the knife.
Learn to feel the hand before it throws.
Qaritas exhaled.
His shoulders relaxed.
His feet shifted.
And then—
he closed his eyes.
Ylaris frowned.
"…Are you mocking me?"
"No."
"Then open your eyes."
"Can't."
"Why?"
"Goro told me not to."
A pause.
"Your master isn't here."
"Unfortunately, I can still hear him."
Ylaris attacked.
Qaritas moved.
A strike passed his cheek.
He stepped aside.
Another came.
He ducked.
A kick swept toward his legs.
He jumped backward.
Not because he saw the attacks.
He didn't.
He heard the shift of Ylaris's foot.
Felt the movement of air.
Recognized the tightening of muscle through the subtle changes in rhythm.
His body connected details faster than his thoughts could name them.
A breath.
A change in balance.
A heel turning against stone.
A shoulder preparing to rotate.
He moved.
Ylaris's fist missed.
Qaritas caught his wrist.
Twisted.
Ylaris broke the hold immediately.
But Qaritas had already stepped inside his guard.
An elbow stopped inches from Ylaris's ribs.
For a heartbeat—
neither moved.
Then Ylaris smiled.
Barely.
"…Interesting."
Qaritas grinned.
"Thank you."
Ylaris swept his leg.
Qaritas fell.
THUD.
"…I withdraw my thanks."
"Don't stop because one exchange went your way."
Qaritas rolled aside as another strike descended.
"YOU SOUND LIKE GORO!"
"Then perhaps he taught you something useful."
Qaritas rose.
His eyes remained closed.
And this time—
he didn't smile.
He listened.
Xheavend changed forms in the middle of a punch.
It happened so quickly that several watching soldiers failed to understand what they'd seen.
One moment—
she stood in her female form.
Her movements compact.
Her balance low.
Her reach familiar.
The next—
her body shifted.
Her frame lengthened.
Her shoulders broadened.
Her center of gravity changed.
Her male form emerged within the movement itself.
And the punch that should have fallen short—
reached farther.
Ylaris, who had moved to intercept her, barely avoided it.
His eyes sharpened.
"…Interesting."
Xheavend grinned.
"You haven't seen anything yet."
She shifted again.
Female.
Lower.
Faster through the turn.
Then male—
longer reach.
Different leverage.
A heavier shoulder driving into the next exchange.
Not random.
Not decorative.
Every transformation altered the geometry of the fight.
A movement that began with one body finished with another.
An opponent who measured her reach discovered that the measurement was already wrong.
An opponent who anticipated her weight found it redistributed before the counterattack landed.
Qaritas sensed the change beside him.
Even with his eyes closed.
He knew the rhythm.
He'd trained with her.
Fought beside her.
Watched her adapt.
He knew the tiny hesitation before a transition.
The way her breathing shifted.
The way her stance prepared to accommodate a body that hadn't fully arrived yet.
He moved with her.
Ylaris attacked Qaritas from the right.
Qaritas intercepted.
Xheavend swept toward Kysena.
Kysena avoided the strike.
Xheavend changed forms.
Her longer reach nearly caught the lunar Ascendant's shoulder.
Kysena stepped back.
Then—
her eyes narrowed.
She watched another transformation.
And another.
Finally—
"Your center of gravity changes before your feet do."
Xheavend's grin vanished.
"…What?"
Kysena smiled gently.
"Just before you shift."
Xheavend attacked.
Kysena moved before the transformation completed.
Her hand caught Xheavend's wrist.
Her foot entered the space where Xheavend's new stance would settle.
And suddenly—
Xheavend was off balance.
Kysena released her before the fall became dangerous.
Xheavend recovered.
Barely.
Then stared.
"…You noticed."
"Yes."
"That quickly?"
"You showed me several times."
Xheavend blinked.
Then laughed.
"Oh, I like you."
From across the platform—
Qaritas shouted—
"THAT'S WHAT I SAID!"
Ylaris punched him.
Qaritas stumbled.
"STOP TALKING!"
The fight changed.
Not because Qaritas and Xheavend became stronger.
Not because Ylaris and Kysena became weaker.
But because the four began learning.
Ylaris recognized the patterns Qaritas relied upon.
He began changing his rhythm.
Breaking his breathing deliberately.
Introducing pauses where Qaritas expected movement.
Qaritas misread one.
A strike caught his shoulder.
He hissed.
Too early.
He adjusted.
Waited.
Listened again.
Kysena began anticipating Xheavend's transformations.
Xheavend responded by disguising the preparation.
Changing her footwork.
Shifting later.
Sometimes not shifting at all.
The next exchange became faster.
Then faster still.
Stone cracked beneath their feet.
Not from divine power.
From force.
Momentum.
Four beings whose bodies had been trained across years, decades, and centuries of violence.
Qaritas ducked beneath Ylaris's arm.
Xheavend moved behind him.
Kysena intercepted.
Ylaris turned.
Qaritas caught his wrist.
Ylaris twisted free.
Xheavend changed forms.
Kysena stepped inside the transition.
Qaritas moved to intercept her—
and suddenly realized—
he was too late.
Kysena's hand hovered beside his throat.
Ylaris's fist stopped inches from Qaritas's chest.
Xheavend's arm had locked behind Kysena's back.
And Qaritas—
had his other hand positioned beneath Ylaris's ribs.
Four attacks.
Four openings.
Four possible endings.
Then—
"Enough."
Gawi's voice cut through the training grounds.
All four froze.
Silence followed.
Qaritas opened his eyes.
Looked at Ylaris.
Then at Kysena.
Then at Xheavend.
"…Well."
Ylaris lowered his fist.
"I had him."
Qaritas raised an eyebrow.
"Your sister had my throat."
Kysena nodded.
"And Xheavend had my spine."
Xheavend grinned.
"Still do."
Ylaris looked toward Gawi.
"Who won?"
Gawi's permanent smile remained unchanged.
"Neither side."
Qaritas frowned.
"A draw?"
"Yes."
Ylaris folded his arms.
"I disagree."
"Noted."
"I had a decisive opening."
"So did Qaritas."
Ylaris looked irritated.
Gawi continued.
"Kysena controlled the engagement. Xheavend adapted to her counters. Qaritas recognized hostile movement before consciously identifying it."
Qaritas straightened.
Then—
"And all four of you left openings that could have killed you."
He slumped.
Gawi folded her arms.
"Congratulations."
They waited.
"You've successfully demonstrated why I don't permit children to supervise themselves."
Qaritas looked offended.
"I'm older than—"
"That makes it worse."
Xheavend burst out laughing.
Kysena covered her mouth.
Even Ylaris looked as though he might smile.
Might.
Qaritas pointed at Gawi.
"…You enjoy this."
"Yes."
"Terrible."
"Your instincts are improving."
Qaritas paused.
His expression softened.
"…Thank you."
Gawi stepped closer.
"You still rely on them too much."
His smile faded.
She continued.
"Your instincts are tools, Qaritas."
A pause.
"Not answers."
He looked at her.
"When they fail, you must still be capable of thinking."
Qaritas nodded slowly.
"…Understood."
Gawi turned toward the waiting vessel.
"Good."
Then—
"Get aboard before I change my mind about sending you."
The ship was not alive.
Qaritas checked.
Twice.
He stood beneath its enormous metal hull, examining the propulsion assemblies while soldiers loaded the final supplies.
The vessel was long and angular, constructed from dark silver alloy.
Its exterior carried reinforced armor, defensive weapons, and several concealed compartments.
It looked—
normal.
Suspiciously normal.
Qaritas approached Gawi.
"Is it alive?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Does it have organs?"
"No."
"Does it breathe?"
"No."
"Does it eat?"
"No."
Qaritas narrowed his eyes.
"Was it made from something alive?"
Gawi paused.
"…That's a more complicated question."
Qaritas stared.
Then turned away.
"Nope."
Gawi's permanent smile remained.
"A wise decision."
The briefing chamber contained a projection of Lamentis.
Qaritas stood beside Xheavend.
Ylaris and Kysena waited across from them.
Gawi had accompanied them aboard, although she'd made it perfectly clear that she wouldn't be joining their mission.
Apparently, commanding an entire resistance across the Third Universe was more important than personally supervising four Ascendants who couldn't agree on anything.
Qaritas considered that deeply irresponsible.
Especially since two of those Ascendants had already threatened to fight each other.
Gawi approached the central table.
"Before you depart, there are several things you need to understand about Lamentis."
She activated the display.
A planet appeared.
At first glance—
it seemed impossible.
Four enormous regions divided its surface.
Not by ordinary borders.
By elemental extremes so severe that they appeared to belong to separate worlds.
One quarter burned.
One rose in colossal forests and mountain ranges.
One disappeared beneath oceans.
And the last—
was hidden within enormous atmospheric formations.
Floating landmasses drifted above the clouds.
Storm systems coiled around entire continents.
Qaritas stared.
"…That can't be stable."
"It isn't," Gawi answered.
"Wonderful."
She enlarged the projection.
"Lamentis is divided into four great elemental kingdoms."
The first region illuminated.
A land of black mountains.
Molten rivers.
Obsidian cities.
And enormous volcanic formations that burned beneath crimson skies.
"Vharos. The Ember Dominion."
Xheavend leaned forward.
"Altest."
Gawi nodded.
"God of Fire. Marasailyn and Qirak's son."
The projection shifted.
"His territory has suffered repeated attacks. Settlements have burned without ordinary flame. Some structures remain standing after their inhabitants disappear."
Qaritas frowned.
"Without ordinary flame?"
"No heat signatures. No conventional combustion."
Ylaris's expression hardened.
"Something is imitating destruction by fire."
Gawi continued.
The second territory illuminated.
An enormous green kingdom.
Ancient forests stretched between mountains threaded with luminous crystal.
Some mountains appeared to move.
Others carried entire settlements along their slopes.
"Tharuun. The Rootbound Kingdom."
"Arthan," Xheavend murmured.
"God of Earth," Gawi confirmed. "Villages have been swallowed underground. Some reappear days later."
Qaritas blinked.
"…Reappear?"
"Empty."
Silence.
"Sometimes in different locations."
Qaritas stared at the projection.
"…I dislike that."
The third territory illuminated.
A vast region of sky.
Floating islands drifted among enormous storms.
Cities hung from suspended stone formations.
Bridges of wind and light connected structures that should have fallen thousands of years ago.
"Aelthir. The Kingdom Above."
"Ariyion," Xheavend said.
"God of Air."
Gawi enlarged a cluster of floating settlements.
"Entire cities have vanished into storms that should not exist."
Kysena frowned.
"Storms can conceal movement."
"Yes."
"But entire cities?"
"Precisely."
The final territory illuminated.
Oceans.
Endless blue.
Cities rose beneath transparent domes.
Coral palaces stretched across enormous underwater cliffs.
Abyssal trenches descended into darkness.
"Namaris. The Drowned Crown."
"Akaizu," Xheavend whispered.
"God of Water," Gawi said. "And perhaps the most concerning territory."
Qaritas looked at her.
"Why?"
"People have been disappearing into the sea."
"That sounds bad."
"They return."
Qaritas paused.
"…That sounds good."
"Sometimes."
A silence followed.
Gawi continued.
"Some return with different memories."
Kysena's expression changed.
"Different?"
"They remember events that never occurred. People they never met. Places they have never visited."
Ylaris frowned.
"Memory alteration?"
"Possibly."
Gawi paused.
"Others return behaving like entirely different people."
Qaritas felt something cold move through him.
He remembered Gawi's warning.
The one they recognize as safe.
He looked toward the projection.
"…Do they remember their families?"
"Some do."
"And the others?"
Gawi's smile remained.
"Sometimes they remember too much."
Nobody spoke.
Then Gawi changed the display.
The four territories moved apart.
At their center—
a fifth region appeared.
Not a kingdom.
Not a territory.
Something else.
A vast impossible landscape where all four elements collided.
Mountains floated within storms.
Oceans hung suspended between enormous stone formations.
Rivers of molten fire flowed beneath water without extinguishing.
Forests grew from the undersides of airborne cliffs.
And at the center—
stood a colossal formation of stone.
Qaritas leaned forward.
"…What is that?"
"The Convergence."
Xheavend's expression tightened.
Gawi continued.
"The heart of Lamentis. The place where the four elemental territories meet."
She enlarged the stone formation.
Four enormous channels surrounded it.
Fire.
Earth.
Air.
Water.
Each flowed toward the same central structure.
"The prison of Marasailyn, Ascendant of Destiny, and Qirak, Ascendant of Aether."
Qaritas stared.
"Inside that?"
"Yes."
"Both of them?"
"Yes."
"…How long?"
Gawi paused.
"Long enough."
Qaritas looked at her.
He disliked that answer.
But he suspected the truth would be worse.
Kysena stepped forward.
"The prison is an elemental seal."
Four symbols appeared.
Each connected to a different kingdom.
"Four locks," she explained. "Each responds to the divine essence of one of their sons."
Xheavend looked at the symbols.
"Altest."
One illuminated.
"Arthan."
Another.
"Ariyion."
A third.
"Akaizu."
The final symbol glowed.
Kysena nodded.
"Only the four brothers together can open the prison safely."
Qaritas frowned.
"What happens if someone tries to break it without them?"
Ylaris answered.
"The seal could collapse."
"And?"
"Take the surrounding region with it."
Qaritas looked at the projection.
The Convergence was enormous.
"…How much of the surrounding region?"
Ylaris met his eyes.
"Enough."
Qaritas sighed.
"Everyone keeps saying that."
Gawi continued.
"The four brothers have become increasingly isolated."
The projection changed.
Reports appeared above each kingdom.
Destroyed settlements.
Missing civilians.
Disrupted communication routes.
Contradictory witness accounts.
"Someone is attacking all four territories."
Qaritas studied the reports.
"Yzer?"
"His influence is possible," Gawi said. "But we haven't identified the attacker."
Ylaris pointed toward several marked locations.
"The attacks are coordinated."
Kysena nodded.
"Each kingdom is suffering a different kind of terror."
"Designed around its ruler," Qaritas murmured.
Gawi inclined her head.
"Exactly."
He looked at the four glowing symbols.
"If the brothers are the only ones who can release their parents…"
"Then keeping them apart prevents the rescue," Xheavend finished.
Silence.
Qaritas looked toward Gawi.
"Why not send an army?"
"Because an army would announce our arrival."
He glanced at Xheavend.
"And four Ascendants won't?"
Gawi's smile remained.
"Not if you're competent."
Ylaris folded his arms.
"We'll manage."
Qaritas looked at him.
"She wasn't speaking to you."
"She was."
"I choose to believe otherwise."
Kysena sighed.
Xheavend laughed quietly.
Then her expression changed.
She looked toward the central stone formation.
Toward the prison.
Toward the aunt she had never met.
Qaritas noticed.
He stepped closer.
Not touching her.
Simply standing beside her.
After a moment—
Xheavend moved closer too.
Gawi accompanied them to the boarding ramp.
The ship's engines were beginning to hum.
Above the encampment, several warships moved into formation.
Qaritas glanced toward the engineering platforms.
Far in the distance—
he spotted Yandaro.
The boy was standing atop a crate again.
Arguing.
Of course.
Qaritas smiled.
Then Gawi spoke.
"Qaritas."
He turned.
She held something toward him.
A small metal disc.
Dark.
Marked with a symbol he didn't recognize.
"What is it?"
"An emergency beacon."
He stared.
"…Another one?"
Gawi tilted her head.
"Another?"
"Yandaro gave me a locator."
"Good."
"Should I be concerned that everyone keeps giving me devices intended to locate my body?"
"Yes."
Qaritas sighed.
He accepted the beacon.
Gawi's upper hands folded.
"Lamentis is not Galathan."
"I gathered that from the floating mountains."
"Do not assume the greatest danger will be the strongest opponent."
Qaritas looked at her.
"Then what should I assume?"
"Nothing."
A pause.
"Observe."
He nodded.
Gawi continued.
"And remember what we discussed."
His expression became serious.
"About instincts?"
"Yes."
He glanced toward the ship.
Then back at her.
"…You think something is wrong with those reports."
"I think someone is deliberately creating uncertainty."
Qaritas frowned.
"Why?"
"Because people who cannot trust what they see become easier to control."
Silence.
The words settled between them.
Then Gawi added—
"Find the brothers."
Qaritas nodded.
"Bring them together."
"Yes."
"And rescue their parents."
"If you can."
He looked at her.
"If?"
Gawi's permanent smile remained.
"Do not mistake the objective for a guarantee."
Qaritas exhaled.
Then nodded.
"…Understood."
Gawi stepped aside.
"Go."
Qaritas turned.
Xheavend was already waiting near the ramp.
Ylaris stood beside her.
Kysena was checking the ship's medical supplies.
Qaritas approached.
Ylaris looked him over.
"You're late."
Qaritas stared.
"…We haven't left."
"You're still late."
"Do you ever stop talking?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"When everyone else does."
Qaritas looked toward Xheavend.
"…Can we leave him?"
"No."
"Worth asking."
They boarded.
The ramp closed.
The engines roared.
And slowly—
the vessel rose above Galathan.
Qaritas stood beside the observation window.
Below them, Gawi's encampment grew smaller.
The warships became silver shapes against the plains.
The enormous ivory formations of the Teeth Beneath stretched toward the horizon.
And somewhere down there—
a thirteen-year-old boy was building a ship that might one day save thousands.
Qaritas touched the locator in his pocket.
Then looked toward the sky.
I'll come back if I can.
The ship accelerated.
Galathan fell away beneath them.
And Lamentis waited.
Qaritas had not intended to sleep.
That was the important part.
He had intended to sit in the observation chamber.
Think.
Perhaps eat something.
Possibly annoy Ylaris.
A perfectly reasonable plan.
Unfortunately—
his body had other ideas.
Ten years under Goro had taught him many things.
How to recognize hostile intention.
How to fight without relying entirely on sight.
How to survive situations that should have ended him.
Apparently—
none of those lessons prevented exhaustion.
Qaritas leaned back in his chair.
Closed his eyes.
And drifted.
He stood in darkness.
Not ordinary darkness.
Something deeper.
He couldn't see a sky.
Couldn't see a floor.
Couldn't even determine whether he was standing or suspended.
Then—
a sound.
Drip.
Qaritas turned.
Another.
Drip.
Light appeared.
Silver.
Thin.
Running through the darkness like cracks in glass.
The cracks widened.
And suddenly—
he stood inside a chamber.
Enormous.
Ancient.
Impossible.
Four rivers flowed through its walls.
One carried fire.
One water.
One stone that moved like liquid.
And one—
wind.
Visible wind.
Silver currents twisting through channels carved into the chamber's surface.
Above an endless abyss—
a massive formation of translucent stone hung suspended.
Something moved inside it.
Qaritas stepped closer.
Two figures.
A man.
A woman.
The man was tall.
His form seemed almost insubstantial beneath the stone, as though his body existed partly outside the space containing it.
Pale streams of light moved through him.
Aether.
The woman stood beside him.
Her appearance was difficult to hold in memory.
Not because she lacked features.
But because every time Qaritas tried to focus—
something changed.
Her hair seemed silver.
Then dark.
Then filled with pale threads resembling the branching paths of distant stars.
Her eyes were open.
And they were watching him.
Qaritas stopped.
"…Hello?"
The woman moved.
Not physically.
The stone held her.
But her attention sharpened.
Then—
"You're early."
Qaritas blinked.
"…Excuse me?"
Her lips curved into a faint smile.
"You weren't supposed to arrive yet."
He looked around.
"Arrive where?"
She didn't answer.
Instead—
her gaze lowered.
Toward him.
Toward something he carried.
"You possess something that hasn't happened yet."
Qaritas went still.
The Chromelock.
His hand moved instinctively toward the place where he kept it.
The woman's smile became sad.
"Yes."
Qaritas stared.
"…How do you know about that?"
She looked at him.
"Because some things cast shadows before they exist."
He frowned.
"That explains absolutely nothing."
"I know."
"Then perhaps you'd like to try again."
The woman almost laughed.
Almost.
But the expression faded.
"Tell me something, Qaritas."
He froze.
"…How do you know my name?"
She ignored the question.
"If saving someone required allowing another person to suffer…"
A pause.
"…would you do it?"
Qaritas stared.
"What?"
"Would you allow one life to be broken if you believed countless others depended upon it?"
The chamber seemed to grow colder.
Qaritas thought of Gawi.
Of the worlds she couldn't save.
Of the choices she refused to call righteous simply because they were necessary.
He looked at the woman.
"I don't know."
Her expression changed.
Not disappointment.
Something closer to grief.
"An honest answer."
Qaritas stepped closer.
"Who are you?"
She looked away.
Toward the man imprisoned beside her.
Then—
"I did."
Silence.
Qaritas frowned.
"…You did what?"
"I made that choice."
Her voice was quiet.
So quiet he almost missed it.
"I saw what could follow."
The silver cracks within the stone brightened.
"I saw lives that might never exist."
A pause.
"Worlds that might never survive."
Her fingers pressed against the inner surface of the prison.
"And I convinced myself that seeing the path gave me the right to preserve it."
Qaritas stared.
He didn't understand.
Not completely.
But something about her words—
felt wrong.
Deeply wrong.
"What happened?"
The woman's eyes returned to him.
For a moment—
they looked unbearably tired.
"I have spent a very long time wondering whether that makes me a monster."
Qaritas said nothing.
The chamber trembled.
A low vibration moved through the stone.
The woman looked toward the darkness beyond him.
Her expression sharpened.
"Listen carefully."
Qaritas turned.
Nothing stood behind him.
Only the abyss.
"What?"
"You must not trust every face that welcomes you."
He frowned.
"…What does that mean?"
"Some doors open because someone wishes to help."
A pause.
"Others open because something has been waiting on the other side."
The chamber shook again.
Harder.
Qaritas stepped toward her.
"Who are you?"
The woman looked at him.
And smiled.
Sadly.
"Someone your little friend may never forgive."
Qaritas stopped.
Xheavend?
The thought came unbidden.
His stomach tightened.
"…Marasailyn?"
The woman's eyes filled with something terrible.
Recognition.
Regret.
Fear.
Then—
the stone began cracking.
Qaritas stepped backward.
Silver light poured through the fractures.
The man beside her moved.
His hand pressed against the prison.
The four elemental rivers surged.
And somewhere in the darkness—
something answered.
A sound.
Slow.
Measured.
Like footsteps approaching across a floor that didn't exist.
The woman turned sharply.
Her expression changed.
"It's almost time."
Qaritas reached toward her.
"Time for what?"
She looked past him.
Into the darkness.
And whispered—
"For him to find you."
Something moved.
Qaritas couldn't see its face.
Couldn't see its body.
But he felt—
a presence.
Familiar.
No.
That wasn't right.
It wasn't familiar.
It only felt familiar.
As though his body had recognized someone his mind had never met.
Qaritas's breath caught.
He turned—
And woke.
"Qaritas?"
He jerked upright.
His hand closed around the armrest.
The observation chamber returned.
Metal walls.
Soft lighting.
The distant hum of engines.
Kysena stood beside him.
Her gray eyes were filled with concern.
"Are you all right?"
Qaritas stared.
For several seconds—
he couldn't answer.
He could still see the woman.
The stone.
The four rivers.
And the darkness behind him.
"Qaritas?"
He blinked.
"…Yes."
Kysena studied him.
"You were dreaming."
He looked toward the window.
Stars stretched across the darkness.
"…Apparently."
"Was it a nightmare?"
Qaritas hesitated.
Then—
"I don't know."
Kysena didn't press.
Instead, she sat in the chair opposite him.
For a while, they remained quiet.
Then she asked—
"Did you see something?"
Qaritas turned.
Her expression was gentle.
But her eyes were sharp.
He considered lying.
Decided against it.
"A woman."
Kysena waited.
"Inside a stone prison."
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
Qaritas noticed.
"…You know something."
Kysena lowered her gaze.
"Perhaps."
He frowned.
"She knew my name."
Silence.
"And she knew about something I haven't told anyone here."
Kysena looked toward the stars.
"Destiny can reach into strange places."
Qaritas watched her.
"…Marasailyn."
Kysena didn't answer immediately.
Then—
"If it was her, I would be careful about assuming the dream showed you the whole truth."
Qaritas frowned.
"Why?"
"Because seeing an outcome isn't the same as understanding everything that leads to it."
He remembered the woman's words.
I made that choice.
I convinced myself that seeing the path gave me the right to preserve it.
His chest tightened.
"What kind of person is she?"
Kysena looked at him.
"Marasailyn?"
"Yes."
A long silence followed.
Then Kysena answered.
"Someone who loves deeply."
Qaritas waited.
"And?"
Kysena's expression became distant.
"Someone who has made mistakes."
"…What kind?"
"I don't know all of them."
He studied her.
She met his eyes.
"But I know that power over destiny doesn't make someone wise."
Qaritas leaned back.
For a while—
neither spoke.
Then the ship's communication system activated.
"APPROACHING LAMENTIS."
Kysena rose.
Qaritas turned toward the window.
And stopped breathing.
The planet filled the darkness.
Enormous.
Beautiful.
Impossible.
Lamentis.
One quarter of its surface burned beneath crimson clouds.
Volcanic chains stretched across black continents, their molten rivers glowing like veins beneath the planet's skin.
Another quarter was green.
Deep.
Ancient.
Colossal forests surrounded mountain ranges so enormous they appeared to pierce the atmosphere.
Beyond them—
the oceans.
Blue and silver.
Vast enough to swallow continents.
Enormous underwater structures shimmered beneath the surface.
And above the final region—
the sky itself seemed broken.
Floating islands drifted among storm systems.
Cities hung suspended above clouds.
Lightning traveled between enormous airborne landmasses.
Four kingdoms.
Four elements.
Four gods.
And somewhere at their center—
a prison.
Qaritas rose slowly.
"…Oh."
Kysena smiled faintly.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
He nodded.
Then—
a darker region became visible.
At the center of the planet.
A place where the four territories converged.
Storms twisted around mountains.
Water hung above fire.
And beneath everything—
a vast formation of stone.
Even from orbit—
Qaritas felt something.
A pressure.
A distant awareness.
As though something inside the planet knew he had arrived.
The communication system sounded again.
"Entering Lamentis orbital approach."
Footsteps approached.
Ylaris entered the chamber.
Xheavend followed.
She stopped beside Qaritas.
Looked through the window.
And went very still.
"…That's it?"
Qaritas nodded.
"Apparently."
Her eyes moved across the four regions.
Fire.
Earth.
Air.
Water.
Somewhere below—
her mother's nephews.
Her cousins.
Her aunt.
A family she knew almost nothing about.
Xheavend swallowed.
Qaritas noticed.
He didn't ask whether she was frightened.
He already knew.
Instead—
he stood beside her.
Close enough that she could reach for him if she wanted.
Ylaris examined the planetary readings.
"We'll enter through Vharos."
Qaritas glanced at him.
"The fire kingdom?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because the most recent attack occurred near its northern border."
Kysena's expression sharpened.
"Survivors?"
"Unknown."
Xheavend looked away from the window.
"Then we should hurry."
Ylaris nodded.
For once—
there was no argument.
Qaritas looked toward the burning quarter of Lamentis.
He remembered Gawi's words.
When I can act—I act.
He touched the small locator in his pocket.
Then the emergency beacon.
Two devices.
Two reminders.
That people expected him to return.
And somewhere inside his chest—
Eon remained silent.
Qaritas exhaled.
All right, brother.
Here we go.
The ship descended.
Toward fire.
Toward family.
Toward a destiny someone had already tried to choose.
And somewhere beneath the clouds—
something was waiting.
Somewhere on Lamentis
The room had no mirrors.
That was intentional.
A man stood before a wooden table.
His clothing lay neatly folded beside him.
Black trousers.
A dark coat.
Gloves.
Boots polished until the leather reflected the overhead light.
And finally—
a narrow strip of white fabric.
The man lifted it.
Turned it over.
One word had been embroidered across its surface.
GUARD.
He placed it down.
The man examined his hands.
Turned them over.
Flexed his fingers.
Once.
Twice.
A faint crease appeared across his knuckles.
He stopped.
Looked closer.
Then sighed.
"…Unfortunate."
The skin was beginning to loosen.
He had worn this one for nearly six days.
Longer than expected.
And it was beginning to show.
He pressed his thumb against the back of his opposite hand.
The flesh shifted.
Not the muscle beneath it.
Not the bone.
The skin itself.
It moved a fraction too far, sliding over his knuckles as though it no longer remembered how tightly it was supposed to fit.
The man watched with mild irritation.
Then released it.
The skin remained displaced.
A small fold gathered near his wrist.
"Six days," he murmured.
He sounded disappointed.
"I was hoping for seven."
He raised his hand toward the overhead light.
The borrowed flesh had begun losing its natural warmth.
The fine lines across his palm were fading.
Even the little scar near his thumb had started to flatten.
That annoyed him most.
He had been rather fond of that scar.
It made the hands look believable.
He lowered his arm.
Then reached beneath his collar.
His fingers searched along the back of his neck.
Found something.
A narrow separation.
Almost invisible.
He hooked one fingernail beneath it.
And pulled.
A soft, unpleasant sound followed.
Rrrrip.
The skin along his neck lifted.
Not tearing.
Not breaking.
Simply—
separating.
Like fabric coming loose from a surface it had never truly belonged to.
The man tilted his head.
A thin strip of flesh peeled away from his collarbone.
He caught it between two fingers.
Examined the underside.
"Hm."
The inner surface was pale.
Almost translucent.
Fine threads stretched between the discarded covering and whatever lay beneath.
They trembled.
Contracted.
Then released.
He pulled again.
The separation traveled across his shoulder.
Down his chest.
Around his upper arm.
His borrowed skin folded outward.
He paused to avoid damaging the sleeve.
Then remembered—
he had already removed his clothing.
"…Of course."
He continued.
The skin slipped from his right shoulder.
Then his left.
He drew it downward with both hands, carefully working it past his elbows.
The covering resisted around his wrists.
He frowned.
"Always the hands."
He twisted one arm.
Pulled.
The borrowed fingers stretched.
Lengthened.
Then slipped free.
Five empty fingers hung from the loosened skin.
Perfectly shaped.
Complete with fingernails.
Creases.
Even the faint calluses of the man whose appearance he had taken.
The Guard held the empty hand up.
Studied it.
Then gave a small, approving nod.
"Excellent craftsmanship."
He set it aside temporarily.
And continued removing the rest.
The covering peeled down his torso.
Across his waist.
Over his hips.
It clung stubbornly around his knees.
He bent.
Worked one leg free.
Then the other.
Finally—
he stepped out.
The discarded skin collapsed onto the floor.
For several seconds, it retained the shape of a person.
The hollow face lay turned toward the ceiling.
Its mouth hung slightly open.
Its eyelids rested over empty spaces.
Its hands curled inward.
Then the covering slowly flattened.
The man looked down at it.
Silent.
Considering.
He nudged the empty face with his foot.
The mouth shifted.
A familiar smile briefly appeared.
He tilted his head.
"…You were useful."
There was no gratitude in his voice.
No affection.
Only the mild acknowledgment someone might offer a tool that had served its purpose.
He crouched.
Gathered the discarded covering.
And began folding it.
Carefully.
Arms inward.
Legs together.
The face tucked beneath the shoulders.
He smoothed out a wrinkle near the collar.
Then another.
Until the entire thing formed a neat, compact bundle.
He lifted it.
Placed it upon the wooden table.
Beside the others.
There were several.
Different sizes.
Different shades.
Some considerably older than the one he had just removed.
One still possessed a woman's long, dark hair.
Another had the broad shoulders and heavy hands of a laborer.
A third was smaller.
Much smaller.
The Guard glanced over his collection.
Then adjusted the newest addition so its edges aligned with the rest.
"There."
He seemed satisfied.
"Much better."
Only then did he look down at himself.
At the shape that remained beneath the borrowed flesh.
Something no ordinary human body could have concealed.
Something that had never needed skin of its own.
He flexed his fingers.
The movement was wrong.
Too smooth.
Too deliberate.
As though the joints obeyed instructions rather than anatomy.
He turned toward the second table.
Someone lay upon it.
Breathing.
Barely.
The Guard approached.
His next face was waiting.
And unlike the last—
this one was still alive.
The man leaned closer.
Studied the face.
The eyes.
The mouth.
The little scar beneath the chin.
"Hmm."
He tilted his head.
The person on the table stirred.
Their eyes opened.
Fear flooded them.
The man smiled.
Not cruelly.
Not kindly.
Simply—
with satisfaction.
"Yes."
He sounded pleased.
"This will do nicely."
The person tried to speak.
Only a faint sound escaped.
The man placed one finger against their lips.
"Quiet."
He leaned closer.
"I need you to remember something."
The person trembled.
The man's expression remained pleasant.
"People trust familiar faces."
He straightened.
"And I have always found trust such a useful thing."
Several minutes passed.
When he returned to the first table—
he looked different.
Younger.
Kinder.
His new face possessed an expression people would instinctively welcome.
He dressed.
Buttoned his coat.
Pulled on his gloves.
And fastened the white strip around his upper arm.
GUARD.
A communication device sounded.
He answered.
A voice asked—
"Have they arrived?"
"Not yet."
"Will you be ready?"
The man adjusted his collar.
Looked toward the closed door.
Then—
"Father wouldn't have sent me otherwise."
The communication ended.
He stood quietly.
Listening.
Somewhere outside—
people were screaming.
He opened the door.
Beyond it—
a city was burning.
Flames climbed its towers.
Smoke filled the streets.
Soldiers ran toward the northern walls.
And among the fleeing civilians—
a little girl stood crying beside a fallen cart.
The man approached her.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He crouched.
His expression softened.
"Are you lost?"
The girl nodded.
Tears ran down her cheeks.
He offered his hand.
"Come."
She hesitated.
Then took it.
The man smiled.
"There you are."
He led her away from the flames.
Away from the soldiers.
Away from the crowded streets.
And as they disappeared into a narrow passage—
he looked toward the sky.
Far above the burning city—
a silver vessel broke through the clouds.
Four Ascendants were approaching.
The man watched it descend.
Then smiled.
"Welcome to Lamentis."