No, there is nothing natural here. This architecture is not that of the World Before. I had studied the Sanctum archives long enough, wandered Arkaster’s museums often enough, to know this with absolute certainty. It is without a doubt the product of an anomaly—of long exposure to the Tumult—not the patient craft of mortals.

I gaze at the blocks of black stone shifting in the darkness of the depths. I watch them come together, pull apart. I watch them rise, tumble down into the abyss, moving in a choreography so complex it could be mistaken for chaos. Yet I suspect it is anything but. It is as geometric as it is fractal. It follows its own logic, not mere chance.

From Axiom researchers I have learned that each of these shapes carries within its heart an Aerolith core. That is what allows them to defy gravity. And the scholars have uncovered another phenomenon, no less fascinating: the polygons appear to communicate, exchanging information, linking together the data they contain, before splitting off again, seeking new connections… The whole resembles a vast network, a labyrinthine library of memories, of vestigial images.

Below, the Bravos cohort serving as my escort is settling in. Already I can hear a fife piping a few notes to amuse its audience, a burst of laughter carried into the vastness by conversations likely a touch bawdy. They have earned their rest while I proceed with my analyses.

I watch an aggregate burst apart before my eyes, each of its blocks streaking off to a new destination. It is as though I am witnessing the birth and dissolution of thoughts themselves… Was the City of Scholars, as some claimed, capable of consciousness? Best to find out for certain.

I place a hand on the bare stone wall. It is cold to the touch, though not as much as one might expect. Through Heka I summon the ideas: “smooth,” “regular,” “cube,” “obsidian”… And with Glyphs I etch into the rock, I shape a block akin to those I have studied since arriving here. Upon each face I inscribe, through Alteration, the hierograms that seem best suited to reveal what I seek.

‘What are you looking for, old man?’

I turn toward the impudent voice and recognize the hero of Asgartha, the slayer of the Kraken. He is scratching the neck of his Alter Ego, and I cannot resist throwing a barb at Mack for not warning me of his arrival.

You said ‘danger.’ This isn’t a danger, is all he offers in reply.

‘Were you never taught to respect your elders?’

Kojo Oduro arches his brows in surprise, then rubs his cheek, visibly embarrassed.

‘It wasn’t meant as a slight…’, he mutters, sheepishly.

‘Just a mere fact, is that it?’

He begins to reply, then bites his tongue.

‘I’m testing a theory’, I say simply, offering no details of my experiment.

He straightens, while his Chimera twitches its ears and bounds from block to block to descend to my level.

‘I had a question for you.’

I pretend not to hear, engraving the last ideograms. Then I rotate the cube I have sculpted, ensuring that the ideas inscribed upon it are indeed those I wish to invoke. Satisfied, I push the polyhedron into the monumental chasm, sending it to join the City’s blocks. Propelled by my will, it takes its place within the shaft and waits.

‘And what is it, young man?’

He stares at me a moment, then averts his eyes, suddenly bashful.

‘I… it’s just that—’

‘You’re wondering if you belong among the other Exalts.’

His eyes widen in disbelief.

‘It’s like you’re reading me like an open book…’

I refrain from telling him that indeed, I am.

‘I saw you standing before Avkan. Something in you, in the way you greeted the crowd, seemed to reject the honors.’

‘Nothing escapes you, does it?’

I step closer, forcing him to meet my gaze.

‘That is called imposter syndrome. You were celebrated, and you questioned whether you truly deserved to be placed on such a pedestal.’

I smile at him.

‘Know this: it is a sign of humility, and of wisdom. You did not yield to pride or arrogance. You can take pride in that instead of tormenting yourself.’

He still hesitates.

‘But… I realized it back in the Storhvit. I’m not a fighter, and I’m no thinker either. I’m just a runner, at my core. I asked Atsadi to take me on as his Squire, but he refused. Categorically.’

‘And you won’t persist?’

My remark widens his eyes.

‘I watched your sister’s rise from afar. One thing struck me: she never gave up. She always clenched her teeth, always stood back up. I believe it’s a family trait—something that runs in your blood as well. During your Altrun races, you always had the finish line in sight, didn’t you? How is this any different from what troubles you now?’

He falls silent, brows furrowed. Then a smile lights his face.

‘I wish I had your wisdom.’

‘That too is something you can learn, young Bravos.’

He looks at me with a spark of stubbornness. Hmm. My little speech may have worked too well.

‘Would you teach me? I want to be wise and powerful. Like you. Like Atsadi.’

I could have laughed then—not to mock him, but because I had been disarmed by his candor. I hold it back, for I am the one who steered our talk here, urging him to persist. Advising a Bravos to be mule-headed… What folly.

That’s what it means to be caught in one’s own game.

I thank Mack for his astute yet useless observation.

‘We’ll speak of it again once we’re back at the surface’, I concede, as the young man’s face brightens with the glow of victory.

‘But first…’

I turn back to my false cube, as it is already being drawn into the City’s blocks’ dance. I have programmed it to seek out every reference to the Source of the Tumult, and it has not been idle. I see it link with other clusters, drawing polyhedral pilings toward itself.

The ground trembles suddenly beneath my feet. The polygons stir, as though struck by some nervous reflex. Their velocity increases, the pace of their fusions and dissolutions quickening.

‘Whoa!’

Kojo clings to a crevice while Booda growls. Even Mack seems taken aback.

I think your intrusion hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Several levels below, the Bravos rise to their feet, already bracing for battle. Their respite has been short-lived.

‘Exalts!’

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Blade Dancer rushing toward us, sabers drawn, already pulsing with fiery light.

‘This tremor does not bode well. We should—’

I raise my hand, just slightly imperious.

‘One moment, if you please.’

The Phoenixian swordswoman clenches her teeth, but says nothing.

In the unfathomable darkness of the Labyrinth, like a straw whipped about by a storm, my simulacrum is gathering torrents of information. I had carved a Glyph onto one of its faces: the Rhombus of the Gestalt. And as another seismic shiver shakes the cyclopean cavern, I connect to it, absorbing the data it has gleaned.

A flood of impressions courses through my mind, which I strive to commit to memory. The tremors intensify suddenly, while deep below, my cube is battered by block after block, until its surface cracks.

‘Exalt!’

I sever the link just in time to watch my cube shatter under the repeated impacts. Its fragments plummet into the abyss, their fall echoing all around in a sinister cacophony.

‘I’ll follow you, Captain. You are right—better not linger.’

She shoots me a dark look before turning away. But her silent reproach matters little, compared to what I have just unearthed.

Finding the Source of the Tumult. That was the cornerstone of the Rediscovery Endeavor. It was the keystone of the Expeditionary Corps’ very existence. I had spent years digging through the dusty tomes of the Sanctum, searching for a reason—compelling, undeniable—to justify their creation.

I blink, a dull throb hammering against my temple. I try to push it aside, to banish it from my mind. We had to find the Source, pinpoint its location, and a migraine was not going to stand in my way.

As we move swiftly through the halls, I can’t help but feel a wave of relief. Now I know where to go. I can touch our first true objective with my fingertips. A smile slips onto my lips as I think of Avkan’s reaction—of the vindication of an entire life’s work, now within reach.

While we march through vast corridors, I notice a Phoenixian warrior with hair the color of burning embers staring at me, her expression questioning. I decide to ignore her, because I know the answers won’t be long in coming.

‘To the right.’

The Blade Dancer nods, and we turn.

Thankfully, the tremors have ceased. All that remains is to claim what we came for, and we can leave this sterile, sepulchral place behind. Still, I shiver despite myself, for just a heartbeat ago, through the Gestalt, my psyche brushed against an intelligence—a consciousness—that was anything but human. Yes, the City was alive, and we were moving through its bowels.

Our footsteps stir a thousand muffled echoes as corridors and deserted chambers pass us by. Under other circumstances, I might have wished to linger, to unearth the secrets of this place. How had its inhabitants lived? Who were they? What had become of them? But such curiosity could not be allowed to matter. Only the Source of the Tumult was important.

‘We’re here.’

I point toward a gaping, diamond-shaped opening carved into the stone.

‘Looks like a tomb…’, Kojo mutters.

‘This whole city is a graveyard’, our leader adds grimly.

She is the first to step into the hollowed-out hall. The light of her torch does little to banish the suffocating darkness, but we follow nonetheless. The Bravos are on edge, of course, and the Phoenixian Guards’ blades scatter the night. Only when the tracker’s Chimera enters the massive antechamber do the wall reliefs—until now drowned in absolute black—reveal themselves.

‘Boo?’

At Oduro’s single command, his Alter Ego bursts alight, its brilliance flooding the hall. Murals emerge from the shadows: here, a procession of figures, a hooded one at the center surrounded by seven warriors; there, a city perched atop a mountain, like a new Tower of Babel…

‘Waru…’

I turn toward Kojo. He tugs at my sleeve, eyes fixed on the far wall. I follow his gaze—and feel my knees weaken.

‘What does it mean?’, he stammers.

I struggle to make sense of the image before me: a massive phoenix, sculpted in bas-relief, wings outstretched toward the heavens. Like the one in Haven, it is brooding over a flame-wreathed egg—an egg that looks disturbingly like the Bravos’ own emblem. My jaw tightens as I scan the faces around me. Stunned, awestruck, incredulous, fearful, reverent… emotions ripple one after another across their features.

Lifting the hem of my tunic, I step toward the dais. All eyes follow me, too shocked to move, too shocked to stop me. Unsteadily, I climb the stairs one by one, as ceremoniously as I can manage. Behind me, someone collapses to their knees, but I don’t look back. My gaze is fixed on the egg—revealed now as a small alcove carved into the rock. Inside…

I reach into the cavity and pull out a cylinder. My hands tremble as I open it, careful not to damage the ancient vellum within. I unroll the parchment, eyes darting across its lines…

‘Waru?’

My fingers clench around the scroll’s edges, a knot forming in my gut.

‘What is it?’

Kojo rushes up the steps, four at a time, just as the cylinder slips from my hands. It clatters across the stone platform, spilling open completely. I press a hand against the wall, fighting to steady my breath. The migraine strikes again—worse, far worse. Kojo stares at me in horror, then turns to read for himself.

‘I… I don’t understand. How? How can this be?’

No. No, I can’t allow it.

Other Bravos step forward, but their stunned murmurs blur into nothing. I must think. I must process this. But my mind won’t move, leaden, chained.

‘What does it mean?’

I turn to the Blade Dancer. Her stare is unwavering. My initial shock is already hardening into simmering anger. Something pounds inside my skull, a thought hammering the bars of its cage.

‘None of this leaves these walls. Do you hear me?’

Kojo gapes at me, shaken by the sudden fire in my voice.

‘But this is too big—we can’t hide it!’

His hands clench, desperation etched into his features.

‘We’ll have to. The future of the Rediscovery Endeavor is at stake. If word of what happened here escapes, the entire enterprise will collapse!’

‘But… these are Rune’s words! He was here. He came this far! If even he couldn’t find the Source of the Tumult…’

‘And what’s the alternative? To admit to everyone that we’ve been chasing phantoms? That we’ve been led by nothing but illusions?’

He grinds his teeth.

‘People have the right to know…’

‘On the contrary. They must continue to hope.’

He shakes his head, torn between outrage and disbelief.

‘But—’

‘Do you want to be the one to tell them the Source of the Tumult is a fabrication? Do you understand the consequences of such a revelation? In Asgartha, Avkan’s rivals would seize the chance to tear the project apart. Among the Expeditionary Corps, it would corrode morale, bury the Endeavor altogether. At the first setback, the only thought would be ‘what’s the point?’. And it would be over.’

I raise my voice so all can hear, my gaze sweeping over the Phoenixian Guards.

‘You dreamed of exploring the world, didn’t you? Of walking in Rune’s footsteps? Do you want to keep going, or slink home with your tails between your legs?’

‘You’re asking us to lie.’

‘I’m asking you to keep the flame alive.’

The Blade Dancer lingers on the phoenix carved in stone. When she turns back to us, her eyes gleam with spectral fire.

‘We, Rune’s heirs, always knew the Source of the Tumult was nothing but a mirage.’

I stare at her, dumbstruck. My temples throb, my migraine pulsing like a storm, and through its haze I feel a word hovering just beyond reach, taunting me.

‘Rune foresaw this. We are the keepers of his final instructions. We are the stewards of his Testament.’

Suddenly, her skin glows. Golden tracings blossom across her arms, patterns eerily identical to the archaic script carved throughout the City of Scholars.

‘The true purpose of the Rediscovery Endeavor was never the Source of the Tumult. Other Bravos, aboard the Wayfarer, secretly joined the Tisdhera Clan. They carried with them the Phoenix Egg. The Firebird must be rekindled, reborn. Only then can the world rise from its ashes. So he spoke, at the dawn of a new age. Such is the mission entrusted to us.’

I blink, thunderstruck, as though lightning had struck me where I stand. And yet her words are like a lifeline thrown into quicksand. If I want to escape the mire I’ve fallen into, I must seize it. Isn’t it said that when one door closes, a window cracks open?

‘And what does this Testament say?’

‘That we must sail westward. There we’ll find its nest.’

Kojo shakes his head, horrified.

‘So we’re really going to lie to everyone?’, he whispers, visibly sickened.

My mind races, turning over the new equation before me. This wasn’t about twisting the truth, but about substituting one truth for another… All we had to say was that the Source of the Tumult lay in that same direction, that the Egg was the key. A small bending of the facts. And was it even betrayal, if the goal was the greater good?

I turn to Kojo and allow myself a grave smile.

‘You wanted to know how the wise act, didn’t you?’, I say softly. ‘To act with wisdom is to show sound judgment—and to take responsibility for the choices you make.’