Evelyn looked at Vale with faintly widened eyes, clearly taken aback by his enthusiasm.

  It was understandable.

  Fractures were not something to be greeted with excitement. They were wounds torn into the fabric of the world, gates to the Abyss itself. Through them traveled spawn, creatures born of ruin and corruption, and through those same fractures they emerged into reality as monsters that destroyed cities, erased lives, and left nothing but ash and silence in their wake.

  Most Visorians spoke of fractures with grim restraint. Some with fear. Others with quiet hatred.

  Vale, however, felt something else entirely.

  The more he learned about spawn, their hierarchies, their mutations, the strange logic governing their evolution, the more his curiosity grew. He did not crave battle for its own sake, nor did he underestimate the danger. What he wanted was understanding. To see the Abyss with his own eyes. To witness the creatures that had shaped so much of the world’s suffering and judge them not as legends or reports, but as tangible beings of flesh and will.

  A faint smile formed on his face as Evelyn finally let out a small, amused chuckle.

  “Now, now,” she said, raising a hand slightly in a calming gesture. “Don’t be so rash. We’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

  The words hit Vale immediately.

  His shoulders slumped, and his posture folded inward with visible disappointment. For a moment, he looked almost deflated. Still, he didn’t argue. He didn’t complain. Instead, he drew in a slow breath, then nodded.

  “Alright,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow.”

  He repeated the word as if committing it to memory, lifting his gaze to Evelyn again, this time with renewed seriousness.

  From behind her, Callum watched the exchange with a knowing smile. When Vale noticed him, Callum offered a brief nod of encouragement. Vale returned the smile, then turned his eyes back toward Chimera’s flower, its radiant glow pulsing softly within the cavern.

  A quiet chuckle escaped him.

  “Well then,” Vale said, taking a step back, “I’ll be heading out.”

  He waved them off and turned away, beginning his descent deeper into the hollow mountain toward its shadowed exit. His companions followed closely behind him, their presence steady and familiar. At some point, the dark ravens vanished into the cavern’s depths, slipping beyond the reach of his vision, but he continued onward without hesitation.

  Eventually, light returned.

  Vale stepped out of the mountain and onto lush, green grass, sunlight washing over him. He paused, closed his eyes, and drew in a deep, heavy breath, grounding himself in the warmth and quiet of the moment.

  “Alright,” he murmured.

  As he looked around, movement caught his attention.

  A bright white tiger lingered among the bushes near the mountain’s entrance. The beast crept closer, its powerful frame moving with deliberate grace. It held Vale’s gaze briefly, calm, observant, unthreatening.

  There was no aggression in its posture. No intent to strike.

  Vale let out a soft laugh.

  The tiger turned and slipped back into the foliage, vanishing as silently as it had appeared.

  He had come to recognize the creature over time. It was a familiar presence here, well known among those stationed in the area. A Visorian, like himself. One of Chimera’s own.

  Whistling quietly, Vale resumed his walk toward Sector Zero’s entrance. Ember and the ravens followed from beyond the treeline, gliding between branches and shadows, always keeping him within sight.

  Nearly an hour passed before the reinforced gate to Sector Zero came into view.

  Vale approached, lifting his arm to scan,

  The door swung open before he could touch it.

  Standing on the other side was Rikin.

  The man was slightly shorter than Vale, though his presence filled the space effortlessly. Strands of gray were woven subtly into his dark hair, a testament to years spent in command rather than rest. He wore a tailored black suit designed specifically for him, functional, reinforced, and unmistakably authoritative. His posture was composed, every movement precise, shaped by decades of combat and tactical decision-making as President of the G.V.O.

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  Vale stiffened.

  For a brief moment, a memory surged forward, Rikin’s cold resolve, his willingness to kill Vale without hesitation to prove a point. The recollection sent a chill down his spine.

  Yet Rikin was not a cruel man.

  He looked at Vale now with a wide, genuine smile as he stepped into the enclosure.

  Vale bowed immediately. “Sir Rikin. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

  Rikin laughed, the sound deep and unrestrained, as he closed the distance and placed a firm hand on Vale’s shoulder. He stroked his short beard thoughtfully before speaking again.

  “Stand, Vale,” he said. “You’ve no reason to call me by honorifics anymore. You know that.”

  Vale straightened slowly, a single drop of cold sweat sliding down his temple. “Thank you,” he replied, dropping the title.

  Rikin studied him for a moment, then lifted his gaze toward the sky, where Ember and the ravens circled lazily above.

  A deep grin spread across his face. “Those little ones sure grew up fast, didn’t they?”

  Vale followed his gaze, pride clear in his expression. “They did.”

  Rikin’s smile lingered, but only briefly.

  His eyes shifted toward the far edge of Chimera’s enclosure, where the remains of a massive tree lay sprawled across the landscape. Even from several kilometers away, the destruction was unmistakable.

  His expression hardened.

  “So…” Rikin said slowly, letting the weight of the word settle. “You can control it to that extent now?”

  Vale met his gaze, his chest tightening slightly, then nodded. “Yes. My training paid off.”

  Rikin narrowed his eyes, then turned back toward the fallen tree.

  “I see.”

  He began walking toward Chimera’s enclosure, then stopped abruptly, leaving Vale momentarily confused.

  “Hey, Vale,” Rikin said at last, his voice suddenly cold and sharp, cutting through the air. “Your ability to manipulate Atum is extraordinary.”

  Vale swallowed.

  “Use it well.”

  The words carried more than instruction, they carried warning.

  “Of course, sir,” Vale replied hastily. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Rikin said nothing.

  Then he chuckled.

  The sound grew, swelling into a loud, booming laugh that echoed across the enclosure. Vale stared in stunned silence as his companions landed beside him, their expressions far less emotional but no less confused.

  Rikin laughed for several long moments before finally stopping, wiping tears from his eyes.

  “Alright, kid,” he said, turning slightly toward Vale. “Just wanted to make sure you understand.”

  And with that, his body dissolved into crackling light, pure lightning surging through the air before vanishing completely.

  Vale slumped forward and let out a long, weary sigh.

  “Why does he keep doing that?” he muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as if the gesture alone might relieve the tension building behind his eyes.

  Rikin had a habit of doing that, appearing without warning, delivering cryptic warnings wrapped in half-laughter and lightning, then vanishing before Vale could ask a single question that actually mattered. By now, Vale had pieced together the truth well enough. Rikin was connected to Fulgur, the Plane of Lightning. Manipulating electricity was not merely an ability for him, it was instinct. Reflex. Breathing.

  Teleporting by converting his body into lightning and riding it across space was, for Rikin, no more difficult than walking through a doorway.

  Vale hadn’t witnessed it often, but every time he had, the sight had left an impression. There was something unsettling about watching a man dissolve into raw energy, only to reassemble somewhere else as if reality itself had bent out of respect.

  Still, Vale exhaled through his nose.

  Rikin wasn’t invincible.

  For all his power, he had not cleared the Fourth Trial. That alone placed a limit on him, one Vale understood better than most. The Fourth Trial was not something strength alone could conquer. Asking anyone to overcome it casually would have been unreasonable.

  Vale straightened slightly as he passed fully through the Sector Zero gate, Ember lifting his massive head to glance down at him as they walked. The ravens slipped through the doorway effortlessly, shadows peeling off the walls and reforming on the other side.

  Ember, however, was less graceful.

  Vale glanced back just in time to see the wyvern wedge his horns against the reinforced metal frame, teeth snapping irritably at the edge as he forced his way through. Metal groaned under the pressure.

  Vale chuckled. “Soon you’re going to have to start using the vehicle access lane, Ember.”

  The wyvern’s response was immediate.

  His tail snapped forward and smacked Vale squarely across the back, nearly sending him sprawling. Ember hissed sharply, eyes narrowed in clear offense.

  Vale stumbled, caught himself, then turned with his fist clenched, only to release it with another sigh.

  “Yeah. Fair enough,” he muttered.

  They continued through the corridors of Sector Zero, the sterile lighting and reinforced walls a stark contrast to the living mountain they had just left behind. Soldiers passed by, some saluting, others offering brief nods of acknowledgment. Vale returned each greeting automatically, his mind already shifting elsewhere.

  Eventually, he reached his quarters.

  The door slid open, and Vale stepped inside, immediately shrugging off his gear. He tossed his obsidian blades onto the bed with a dull clatter as Ember lowered himself near the far wall, folding his wings carefully to avoid damaging anything. The ravens dispersed, perching silently in the shadows of the room.

  Vale reached into the inner pocket of his leather armor and withdrew the Book of Nirvana.

  He hesitated for half a second before placing it gently on his desk.

  The book felt heavier every time he touched it, not physically, but conceptually. As if its presence alone pressed against his awareness, reminding him of how much he still didn’t understand.

  He tapped the surface of his desk once.

  The metal rippled.

  From the desk’s surface, liquid silver flowed upward, twisting and folding in on itself as if alive. The mass condensed, limbs extruding with mechanical precision until it solidified into a familiar shape—a small, metallic arachnid with faintly glowing joints.

  Chrome.

  Vale leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the edge of the desk. “Chrome,” he said evenly, seriousness settling into his voice. “Let’s do some more research.”

  The arachnid tilted its head, optics flaring briefly as its systems activated, metallic legs clicking softly as it adjusted its stance.