The air inside the Crucible of Will was not just hot; it was predatory.

Val stepped through the golden doors and was immediately hit by a wall of thermal pressure. The room was a perfect circle of polished obsidian, designed to reflect the blinding light of the immense solar-lens in the ceiling. There were no shadows here. There was nowhere to hide.

Three thrones sat on a raised dais, looking down at the single, humble spot marked for petitioners.

On the left sat Vassan Lojmon, the Master of Echo. He was shrouded in a cloak of shifting grey static. He didn't look up as Val entered; his fingers merely tapped a relentless, silent rhythm on the armrest of his chair. Tap. Tap. Tap.

On the right sat Vassan Vaelor, the Enforcer of Fire. He was a terrifying ruin of an Ide. His skin was ashen and cracked like a dried riverbed, revealing veins of glowing orange magma beneath. He didn't breathe air; he wheezed smoke. Every exhalation scattered sparks onto his velvet robes.

And in the center sat Sovajori Zhajul.

The Head of the Council was beautiful in a way that made Val’s stomach turn. His skin possessed a bioluminescent sheen, perfect and poreless. He smiled as Val and Selon entered, a look of benevolent malice.

"Vajava Consort," Zhajul purred. His voice didn't echo; it seemed to originate directly inside Val’s ear. "And the destined Heir to the Flame of the Sacred Light. You grace us."

Selon bowed low; lower than a Vajava should ever bow. Val stiffened but followed suit, their mask of serenity locked in place.

"We live to serve the Flame," Selon recited, his voice flat.

"Service is required today," Vaelor rasped, coughing into a silk handkerchief. When he pulled it away, the fabric was singed. "The Outer Rings are complaining again. They say the water ration is insufficient for the cooling units."

"It is insufficient," Selon said, straightening up. There was a desperate edge to his voice. "The recycling plants in Mmirabe are running at 40% capacity because we diverted the flow to the Palace Grid. The people are thirsty, Vaelor. If we cut it further—"

"Then they will learn endurance," Vaelor snapped. "Comfort is a luxury of the weak. The Expansion into the Rajas Sector requires power. The Grid comes first."

"But the Rajas Sector is a wasteland!" Selon argued, taking a dangerous step forward. "There is nothing there but dust and old ruins. Why starve our own citizens to power an outpost in the middle of nowhere?"

Zhajul raised a single, manicured hand. The movement was elegant, yet the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"It is not for you to understand the Grand Design, Selon," Zhajul said softly. "It is for you to facilitate it. We need the Rajas outpost to secure the... perimeter. The Shadow Lands of Ousujan are growing bold. We need a vantage point."

Zhajul leaned forward, his glowing eyes boring into Selon.

"But the Southern Hemisphere doesn't pass Rajas," Selon looked at the Map, Rajas just Northwest of Tsujan, completely out of the way. Yet Val watched their dismissive eyes.

"We require you to sign the diversion order, Vajava Consort. Authorize the transfer of water from the residential blocks to the military stockpile."

Selon’s hands trembled at his sides. Val watched, their heart hammering against their ribs. Say no, Val screamed internally. Tell them to rot.

But Selon didn't say no. He looked at Val.

He saw his child standing in the line of fire. He saw Vaelor’s hand drift toward the plasma-hilt at his belt. He saw the camera lens of Prim hovering in the corner, recording every micro-expression.

Selon deflated. The fight left him, replaced by a crushing, humiliated exhaustion.

"As the Kassaj wills," Selon whispered.

He walked to the dais, took the stylus, and signed the death warrant for the outer districts' hydration.

"Good," Zhajul smiled. "Now... to the balcony. The people are waiting to see their bright future."

The transition from the oppressive heat of the Crucible to the open air of the balcony was jarring.

Val stood behind the heavy velvet curtains, listening to the roar of the crowd below. It sounded like the ocean—vast, loud, and dangerous.

Gwen was there, adjusting her High Guard armor. She looked at Val, her violet eyes scanning Val’s face.

"You're shaking," Gwen murmured, her voice barely audible over the noise.

"I hate them," Val whispered back, gripping the velvet curtain until their knuckles turned white. "Gwen, they made him sign it. They’re taking the water."

"I know," Gwen said grimly. She checked the charge on her pulse-rifle. "That is why you must nail this speech, Val. If the people panic, Vaelor sends in the Fire-Walkers. If you give them hope, they stay calm. You are protecting them."

"I’m lying to them... Just like they do. I mean... Selu was right... Rajas is no where near... Not a single Ousujan Ide has stepped foot on Tsujan in I don't even know how long... How does what we do make us the good ide?"

"Sometimes," Gwen said, placing a steady hand on Val’s back, "a lie is the only shield we have. Mask up, Heir."

The announcer’s voice boomed across the plaza.

"CITIZENS OF TSUJAN! BEHOLD, THE ONE YOU'VE ALL BEEN PATIENTLY WAITING FOR, THE HEIR TO THE SACRED FLAME!"

Val stepped through the curtains.

The light was blinding. The Twin Suns were high, reflecting off the white marble and the thousands of golden banners waving in the square. Below, a sea of faces looked up. They looked hungry. They looked tired. But as Val appeared, they screamed with an adoration that felt frantic.

Val approached the podium. They grabbed the sides of the lectern to steady their hands.

"Citizens of the Light!" Val projected, their voice trained to carry. "Today, we stand at the threshold of a new dawn!"

The crowd cheered. It was a mechanical response.

"The Kassaj assures us that the sacrifices of today are the investments of tomorrow," Val recited, the words tasting like ash. "The Expansion into Rajas will bring security! It will bring—"

Val stopped.

In the middle of the crowd, amidst the cheering sea of yellow and white, there was a patch of grey.

A hooded figure stood near the fountain. They weren't cheering. They were staring directly at Val.

And they were humming.

It wasn't a sound Val should have been able to hear over the roar of fifty thousand Ide. But it cut through the noise like a knife—a low, resonant frequency that vibrated in the bones of Val’s inner ear.

Hmmmmmmm.

The world tilted.

The golden light of Tsujan flickered. For a terrifying second, the marble buildings dissolved.

Val saw the nightmare.

The sky tore open. The purple lightning of the void crashed down into the plaza. The cheering crowd wasn't cheering anymore; they were screaming as they turned to glass statues. The tearing sound—RIIIIIP—drowned out the sun.

Val froze. Their mouth opened, but no sound came out.

The silence on the podium stretched.

One echo(second).

Two echoes(seconds).

The crowd’s cheering faltered. Confused murmurs rippled through the square like a wave.

On the balcony behind Val, Vaelor stood up, his hand going to his weapon. Zhajul’s smile vanished.

"Valode!" Gwen’s voice hissed in Val’s ear.

Gwen stepped forward, seamlessly moving to Val’s side as if it were part of the ceremony. She gripped Val’s arm—hard. The pain grounded them.

"The script," Gwen commanded through her teeth, smiling at the crowd. "Say the damn words Valode."

Val blinked. The grey vision vanished. The golden city returned.

Val looked at the crowd. They looked at the hooded figure, but the grey spot was gone. Vanished into the mass.

Val swallowed dryly.

"...It will bring peace!" Val shouted, their voice cracking slightly before finding its strength. "For the Light protects! For the Flame endures! We are Tsujan, and we do not break!"

Val raised a fist.

The crowd erupted again, relief washing over them.

Gwen didn't let go of Val’s arm. She steered them away from the podium, waving to the people, dragging Val back into the shadows of the palace.

The Strategy Room was silent as a tomb.

Zhajul stood by the window, watching the crowd disperse. Vaelor was pacing, his heavy boots slamming against the floor, trailing smoke.

"A glitch," Vaelor spat. "In front of the entire city. They looked weak, Zhajul. Weakness invites chaos. Just think what would have come if this was for a world leader..."

Val stood in the center of the room, head bowed. Selon and Kym stood to the side, looking pale.

"I... I felt faint," Val lied. "The heat..."

"It was not the heat," Zhajul said softly, turning around. "It was hesitation."

Zhajul walked over to Val. He lifted Val’s chin with a cold finger. 

"You have the heart of the people, Valode. They love you. But love is not enough to rule. You lack the steel."

Zhajul looked at Vaelor. A silent communication passed between them.

"The Heir is not ready for the Coronation," Zhajul announced.

Selon stepped forward. "Sovajori, please. It was a momentary lapse. Valode is—"

"Unprepared?" Zhajul cut him off. "Tsujan needs a ruler who can stare into the sun without blinking. Valode needs... shimmering."

Zhajul pulled up a holographic map of the continent. He swiped past the comfort of Tsujan and zoomed in on the jagged, glistening borders of the East.

Khijan. The Kingdom of Glass.

"King Romar has been... difficult," Zhajul mused. "He refuses to update his Archives in accordance to Kassaj standards. He clings to the old histories. He resists the Flame, blinded by the light."

Zhajul turned to Val, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"You will go on a Royal Tour, Heir Valode. You will take the diplomatic transport to Khijan. You will meet with King Romar. You will inspect his Archives. And you will convince him to comply."

"You are sending them away?" Kym asked, her voice tight, "After expressing your dissatisfaction with their leadership?".

"I am sending them to school," Zhajul corrected. "If Valode can bring the stubborn Glass King to heel, then they will be worthy of the Throne. If not..." Zhajul shrugged elegantly. "Then perhaps the line of succession needs to be re-evaluated."

Val felt a cold knot in their stomach. It was a test. A trap. And Val knew exactly what being replaced meant.

"I understand," Val said quietly.

"Good," Zhajul said. "Fyn will have the transport ready at dawn. Do not fail us, Valode. The Light does not forgive twice."

Val bowed and backed out of the room.

As the heavy doors closed, Val leaned against the stone wall, sliding down until they hit the floor. Their hands were shaking. They reached into their pocket, fingers brushing the rough stone they had found in the nightmare—or had they found it? It wasn't there. Just the memory of the hum.

Hmmmm.

Val closed their eyes. They were being sent away. Exiled in everything but name.

"Fine," Val whispered to the empty hall. "I'll go to Khijan. But I'm not going alone."