We didn't move for a while after that.
The forest was quiet, broken only by wind through leaves and the faint crackle of a dying fire. Wardrock's crystal sat between us, wrapped in cloth, dull and harmless-looking—nothing like the thing that had pulsed inside a living monster.
I broke the silence first.
"Kazim," I said. "Can you use it?"
He crouched beside the crystal, eyes scanning it like he was afraid it might suddenly wake up. "Maybe," he replied. "In Academy 3, they used crystals like this as power sources. Not directly—but regulated. Converted."
"So we can make equipment?" I asked.
He shook his head slowly. "Not like they did. We don't have their tools. Their labs. Their containment tech." He paused. "But… if I had the right equipment, I could try."
That was enough.
"There's a city not far from here," I said. "People still live there marking the map. Ruins—but not empty."
Everyone understood what that meant.
Risk.
The city felt wrong.
Buildings stood half-collapsed, patched with scrap metal and cloth. Power flickered where it shouldn't have existed at all. People watched us from behind broken windows and hanging sheets—alert, cautious, tired.
Survivors.
We didn't talk much. Kazim led us straight to what passed for a market. Not stalls—just tables. Tools. Wires. Old machinery pulled from dead worlds and repurposed to keep this one breathing.
We didn't have money.
So Kazim bought scrap.
Bent frames. Burnt processors. Damaged sensors. Things no one else wanted.
"They're enough," he said quietly. "I just need them to listen."
Back in the forest, he worked through the night.
Wires snaked through dirt. Makeshift stands held scanners together with hope and stubbornness. When he finally powered the setup, the crystal hummed—soft at first, then sharper.
Everyone froze.
Kazim stared at the readings.
"This energy…" he whispered. "It's stable. Dense. And it's good it's not exploding."
I frowned. "What does that mean?"
He swallowed. "It's similar to nuclear power. But cleaner. Controlled." He looked up at us. "If we make the right equipment to use its power… we can build a barrier."
A barrier fueled by crystals.
Something that could stop creatures from entering an area. Something that could turn a piece of land into safe ground.
For the first time since the escape, hope felt… practical.
"We'll need a vehicle," Kazim added. "To move equipment. To set anchors."
"There are ruins nearby," Ren said. "Old roads."
I nodded. "Then that's our next move."
----------------------------------------------------------
Monisha hadn't spoken much.
She sat away from the equipment, hugging her knees, staring into the trees like she expected something to come crawling out at any second.
I sat beside her.
"You don't have to help," I said quietly.
"I know," she replied. "That's the problem."
She clenched her hands. "Every time I close my eyes, I hear them. Telling me to summon. Counting down. Watching."
I didn't interrupt.
"They took something from me," she said. "Not just freedom. Choice." Her voice shook. "Sometimes I'm scared that if I use my power again… I'll be back there."
I looked at her. Really looked.
"You're not," I said. "You're here. With us."
She nodded slowly. "I know. I'm trying to believe it."
We sat like that for a long time.
Healing didn't come in bursts.
It came in breaths.
By morning, Kazim stood up, eyes red, but steady.
"I know how to do it," he said. "The barrier won't be perfect. But it'll work."
He glanced at the crystal.
"This thing isn't just power," he added. "It's a promise."
A promise that we didn't have to keep running forever.
We just had to survive long enough to build something worth protecting.
And for the first time, that felt possible