They left at dawn.
The group moved in a tight formation—Garrick in front, Lena at the rear, Sera beside Kira in the middle. The ruins
stretched out around them, gray and lifeless under the poisoned sky.
Kira kept her eyes on the ground, watching for cracks and unstable footing. The air was thick and heavy, and every
breath tasted like ash. The distant rifts pulsed with their sickly green light, casting strange shadows across the
landscape.
"Stay alert," Garrick said quietly. "Rift activity's been high in this area. If you see anything shimmer or distort, call it
out immediately."
Kira nodded.
They walked in silence for hours. The terrain grew rougher—crumbling walls, collapsed buildings, deep cracks in
the earth that glowed faintly with rift energy. Twice, they had to detour around areas where the ground had become
too unstable to cross.
"How much farther?" Lena asked.
"Another few hours," Garrick said. "We'll reach the temple complex by midday."
Kira's legs ached, but she kept moving. Complaining wouldn't help. It never did.
"Do you feel anything yet?" Sera asked quietly.
Kira closed her eyes briefly, reaching out with that strange new sense. For a moment, there was nothing.
Then—faint, distant—a pull. Like a thread tugging gently at her ribs.
"There's something," she said slowly. "Ahead. Not strong, but it's there."
Sera and Garrick exchanged a glance.
"Good," Garrick said. "Keep tracking it. Let us know if it gets stronger."
They pressed on.
The pull grew gradually stronger as they walked, becoming more insistent. By the time the temple complex came
into view, Kira could feel it like a heartbeat in her chest—steady, rhythmic, undeniable.
"It's here," she said. "Somewhere in there."
The temple was a ruin—crumbling stone walls, collapsed roofs, pillars jutting up like broken teeth. Rift energy
crackled around the edges, casting everything in an eerie green glow.
"Careful," Garrick warned. "This place is unstable. Watch your footing."
They moved into the ruins slowly, weapons drawn. The air was colder here, and the silence was oppressive. Kira's
skin prickled with unease.
"Where?" Sera asked quietly.
Kira pointed toward the center of the complex, where a large structure still stood partially intact. "There. It's
strongest there."
They approached cautiously. The structure was some kind of inner sanctum—stone walls covered in faded
carvings, a collapsed ceiling that let in the gray light from above. And in the center, half-buried in rubble, was a faint
glow.
Kira knelt down, her hands moving almost on their own, pushing aside stones and debris. The pull was
overwhelming now, almost painful in its intensity.
And then her fingers touched it.A fragment. Larger than the first one, shaped like a jagged shard of obsidian. The moment she touched it, the pull
in her chest eased, replaced by that strange sense of completion.
"Got it," she whispered.
Garrick and Lena moved closer, their eyes scanning the area for threats. Sera knelt beside Kira, studying the
fragment.
"Two down," Sera said quietly. "Four to go."
Kira held the fragment up, turning it over in her hands. The light inside it pulsed faintly, and she could feel the
warmth spreading through her fingers.
"Can you sense the others?" Garrick asked.
Kira closed her eyes, reaching out again. For a moment, there was nothing. Then—faint, so faint she almost
missed it—another pull. Far away. Barely perceptible.
"There's another one," she said slowly. "But it's distant. I can barely feel it."
"That's enough," Garrick said. "We'll mark the direction and plan the next expedition." He looked at Sera. "Let's get
out of here before something notices us."
They moved quickly, retracing their steps through the ruins. Kira tucked the fragment into her pack, her heart
pounding. Two fragments. She'd found two fragments.
She was useful. She was valuable.
She was alive.
They made camp that night in the shelter of a collapsed building, far enough from the temple to feel relatively safe.
Garrick built a small fire, and they ate in silence—dried meat, hard bread, water that tasted faintly metallic.
Kira sat apart from the others, her back against the wall, the fragment resting in her lap. She could feel it humming
faintly, like a living thing.
"You did well today," Sera said, sitting down beside her. "Really well."
Kira didn't answer.
"I know this is hard," Sera continued. "Being thrown into all this. But you're handling it better than most people
would."
"I don't have a choice," Kira said quietly.
"Maybe not. But you're still doing it. That counts for something."
Kira looked at her. Sera's expression was calm, steady. Not pitying. Not condescending. Just... honest.
"Why are you being nice to me?" Kira asked.
Sera blinked, surprised. "Because you deserve kindness."
"No one's ever thought that before."
Sera's expression softened. "Then they were wrong."
Kira's throat tightened. She looked away, focusing on the fragment in her lap. "I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"Trust people. Believe them when they say they're trying to help."
Sera was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "You don't have to trust us completely. Just... give us a chance to
prove we're not like the people who hurt you."Kira wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe that this place, these people, could be different.
But trust was a luxury she'd never been able to afford.
And she wasn't sure she could start now.
They returned to the settlement two days later, exhausted but successful.
Elder Voss was waiting for them in the main hall, his expression unreadable. Kira handed him the fragment, and he
studied it carefully, turning it over in his gnarled hands.
"Good," he said quietly. "Very good." He looked at Kira. "You've done well, child. Two fragments in less than a
week. At this rate, we might actually have a chance."
Kira didn't answer. She was too tired to feel anything—pride, relief, fear. Just exhaustion.
"Get some rest," Elder Voss said. "We'll plan the next expedition in a few days."
Kira nodded and turned to leave. But as she reached the stairs, she heard Garrick's voice behind her.
"She's the real thing, Voss. No question. She can sense them from a distance, track them down, find them even
when they're buried. She's exactly what we needed."
"I know," Elder Voss said. "Now we just have to hope she survives long enough to find them all."
Kira's hands tightened on the railing.
Survive long enough.
That was all anyone ever expected from her.
She climbed the stairs slowly, her body heavy with exhaustion. Tomorrow, they'd send her out again. Tomorrow,
she'd prove her usefulness all over again.
But tonight, she was just tired.
And that, for now, was all she could handle.
Kira lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling.
"You're getting stronger," Malachar said quietly. "I can feel it. The chaos magic is growing inside you."
"I don't feel stronger," Kira whispered. "I just feel... used."
"That's because you are being used. But that doesn't mean you're powerless. You have something they need. That
gives you leverage."
"Leverage doesn't keep me safe."
"No. But power does. And you're gaining power every day."
Kira closed her eyes. She could feel it—the chaos magic, humming faintly in her chest. It was growing, becoming
more tangible, more real.
She didn't know what it would become. Didn't know if she could control it.
But she knew one thing: she wasn't the same scared child who'd fallen through the rift.
She was changing.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.
A certain man found the carmine flower on his desk when he returned from the evening patrol.He didn't touch it immediately. Instead, he closed his office door and stood very still, listening to the silence of the
cor
Freedom, the old texts said. That's what the carmine flower symbolized. Freedom from chains. Freedom from the
order the five kings had imposed. Freedom for the King of Chaos.
He finally reached out and picked up the bloom. It was warm to the touch, still alive with magic that thrummed
against his skin like a heartbeat.
He moved to the small brazier in the corner of his office and held the flower over the flames. It didn't burn. Instead,
it dissolved into green-gold smoke that dissipated into nothing—leaving no trace, no evidence.
But the message was clear.
Now it begins.