Fragmented memories from his fallen clones still echoed in his mind as Ale hurried out of the ritual chamber and climbed the stairs. The explosion still resonated through the building. He paused briefly, impressed by the power of the trap he had set.

  But instead of rushing straight to the children’s dormitory, a thought stopped him. Something important… something he had almost forgotten.

  He began opening every door along his path, searching each room. He needed answers. Why were the Tenebrous abducting these children? What exactly were they preparing?

  Now and then, he encountered more members of the Brotherhood. But they were few, scattered, disorganized. He dispatched them effortlessly, barely breaking stride.

  In one room, which looked like a storage chamber, he found chests filled with valuable items. He grabbed what could be used or sold and pressed on.

  Then, he stumbled upon an old tome covered in dust. The title read: Basic Magic of the Force of Darkness. Ale flipped through a few pages. The spells inside were simple—but intriguing.

  “Not bad,” he muttered, slipping the book into his storage dimension. It might come in handy later.

  Further down, in a room more lavish than the others—probably Morren’s quarters, the local leader—he discovered a drawer full of letters. Correspondence between Morren and someone named Valikar, apparently a regional superior. Ale skimmed through, scanning for anything critical.

  - Greetings, baronial brother of Devalin. Your results are excellent. At this pace, we will have enough candidates before the appointed date. Keep up the good work.

  Candidates? Ale frowned. He didn’t need to guess—they were talking about the children.

  - The ceremony will take place in the Shadowgrove Valley. The exact location will be shared in another letter. Prepare your recruits.

  A chill ran down Ale’s spine. A ceremony... most likely a major ritual.

  - The Brotherhoods of Felarune and Shadowgorge have failed. Their candidates are dead or captured. A major loss. Increase your security. You are our last hope in this region. If you succeed, I promise you the post of regional vice-admin.

  So Morren was under pressure. And Valikar clearly wasn’t messing around. The next lines revealed even more about the Brotherhood’s scope.

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  - Vallombre has found several gifted children. Some are already casting advanced spells at age ten. The leader, Valdiris, keeps boasting about them. I hope you’ll show similar results. Don’t disappoint me.

  Ale closed the drawer, his thoughts in disarray.

  He had just uncovered vital information. The Tenebrous were more organized than he’d imagined—and that upcoming ceremony in the Shadowgrove Valley was going to be crucial.

  Without wasting a second, Ale stored the letters inside his space-time dimension and rushed toward the children’s dormitory.

  When he reached the second floor, everything matched the fragmented memories from his clones—perfectly. A hallway lined with five doors on each side, numbered 01 through 10. He stopped in front of the first door on the left.

  A thought crossed his mind. It wasn’t Ale a nobody that the children needed to see. Not a stranger covered in dust, who had appeared out of nowhere. It was the Prince of Light they had to recognize. The one whispered about in the alleys of the slums. The one who frightened gangsters… and gave hope to the weak.

  With a swift motion, he took out the mask Chance had given him.

  He placed his hand on the doorknob. As expected, the door was locked by a spell. He channeled a bit of mana into his palm and, with a precise gesture, broke the seal. The lock clicked, and the door slowly creaked open.

  The room was dimly lit. Bunk beds filled the space, but not a single child lay in them. They had gathered in a corner, huddled close together. Their worried eyes immediately turned toward him. The light from the hallway illuminated his mask.

  The mask of the Prince of Light.

  At first—silence. Then, a subtle shift. Some children sat up straighter. Others rubbed their eyes. The fear didn’t vanish, but it retreated. This wasn’t the mask of an executioner.

  A flicker of hope shimmered in their eyes.

  Ale knelt down, gently placing a hand on the floor so as not to startle them. His voice was soft—almost a whisper.

  “I’m here to take you home.”

  At his words, a faint murmur rose among the children. Some exchanged glances, others shifted timidly.

  “Is it true… what you said?” asked a small, hesitant voice.

  “You’re not one of them?” added another, trembling.

  One or two children stepped toward Ale… but were quickly held back.

  “Wait! It might be a trap!” cried a boy, pulling them back.

  In the tense silence that followed, a little girl spoke softly, her eyes shimmering with fragile hope: “I miss my mommy and daddy…”

  She gently slipped from the arms wrapped around her, slowly walking toward Ale with cautious steps.

  “I miss my daddy,” she repeated, louder this time.

  A heartbeat of silence. Then more voices followed.

  “I want to go home too…”

  “Will we see our house again?”

  The emotion spread like a wave. Distrust began to crack. The children started to approach, first shyly, then more confidently.

  Soon, they had all gathered around Ale, eyes fixed on him—full of hope… and still a hint of fear.

  Ale guided them out of the room, his voice calm and reassuring. Wasting no time, he opened the other doors, freeing each group of children from the neighboring rooms.

  One by one, they joined the growing line, forming a silent procession.

  Half an hour later, Ale stood at the edge of the hidden beach behind the waterfall.

  Around him, about fifty children.

  All alive.

  All ready to leave that nightmare behind.