Val walked fast, putting as much distance between themselves and the Crucible as possible. The debilitating heat still burned into their mind.

They didn't head toward the Royal Suites. Prim would be there, waiting with scanners and sedatives. More rules, more control, more lack of autonomy. Instead, Val turned left at the Hall of The Crown, heading toward the East Wing.

The East Wing was the oldest part of the palace, built before the Solar Grid was finalized. It faced Talma, the Second Sun, which was softer, amber-hued, and currently rising an Ark after Kira. While the rest of the city was sterilized by white light, the East Wing was bathed in long, golden shadows.

Val stopped at the door to the Crown Advisor’s office. It was open.

Inside, Evelyn was putting books into a box.

She wasn't supposed to be packing. Evelyn had been the Advisor to the Medu line even before their Selu took the crown. She was a fixture of the palace, as permanent as the marble columns. But now, she was stripping the shelves bare.

"Evie?" Val asked, stepping inside.

Evelyn looked up. She was an older Ide, her face lined with the kind of wrinkles that came from smiling, though she wasn't smiling now. She wore simple robes, devoid of the Council's insignia.

"Heir Valode," Evelyn said, her voice warm but tired. She placed a heavy tome on Pre-Kassaj Agricultural Theory into the crate. "I heard about the speech. They say you rallied the crowd beautifully."

"I lied to them, as we always do..." Val said, their voice cracking. Val closed the door and dropped the royal mask. "Evie, they made Selu sign the water diversion order. They’re drying out the Outer Rings to fuel an outpost in Rajas. It’s madness."

"It’s politics," Evelyn corrected gently. "Cruel, hungry politics."

"I need you," Val said, stepping forward. "Zhajul is sending me to Khijan. A 'Diplomatic Tour.' It’s a test. Or a trap. I need you to come with me. You know King Romar. You know the history. If anyone had the answers on how to persuade them, it's you."

Evelyn sighed, resting her hands on the box. She looked around the empty office.

"I cannot go, Little Spark," she whispered.

"Why? You’re the Crown Advisor. MY Crown Advisor..."

"Not anymore," Evelyn said. She picked up a datapad from the desk and handed it to Val. "My tenure was... re-evaluated. Vassan Lojmon feels that my methods are 'outdated.' He has appointed his own Yi(kin) to take over the office next month."

Val stared at the datapad. Termination of Service: Effective Immediately.

"Lojmon’s Yi?" Val gasped. "He’s putting a spy in your chair?"

"Not exactly," Evelyn said, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. "The boy is... the disappointment of the family. The black sheep of Rhubiti. Lojmon despises him because he refuses to use his Resonance for the Grid. He hides in the dirt."

She reached out, cupping Val’s cheek.

"Lojmon thinks appointing him is a punishment for the boy. But I think... it is a gift for you. He listens to the wind, Val. And right now, you need someone who can hear the storm coming."

"Who is he?"

"He’s in the Garden," Evelyn said, pointing toward the glass doors at the end of the corridor. "He's not allowed in the public light, Lojmon want no one to know of their kinship."

Val stared intently, soaking in very word, taking the hints Evelyn was planting. Val bowed to Evelyn. "Don't be a stranger if you can help it, please. I don't know what we'd do here without you Evie!" Val left with their words to linger in their wake.

The East Wing Garden was an anomaly.

It was an open-air atrium, shielded from the harshness of Kira by the palace walls but open to the gentler light of Talma. The air filtration system didn't reach here.

As Val pushed open the heavy glass doors, the smell hit them.

It didn't smell like ozone or burnt sugar. It smelled of wet dirt. Crushed mint. Decaying leaves. It smelled like how the books Val wasn't supposed to read described Vañujal.

Val stepped onto the mossy path, their heavy ceremonial robes dragging in the mud. It was quiet here. The hum of the city grid was muffled by the thick canopy of vines and trees that had been allowed to grow wild.

The Kassaj must not know of this place, Val thought.

But as Val walked deeper, they realized it wasn't quiet.

There was a sound. A low, rhythmic melody.

And... dripping.

"Hmmmm, hmmm hmmm, hmmm, hmmmm da-dum, da-dum, da-dum,"

Val paused. It was raining.

It wasn't possible. The atmospheric dome over Tsujan vaporized moisture before it could form clouds. Yet, in this small, secluded corner of the palace, a gentle, localized drizzle was falling from a patch of grey mist hovering just below the atrium's glass ceiling.

Val followed the rain.

In the center of the garden, kneeling in a bed of huniffer flowers, was a young Ide.

He wore the rough, grey tunic of a groundskeeper, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms stained with soil. His hair was messy, damp from the rain, sticking to his forehead.

He wasn't just gardening. No, to Val this was a performance.

He was humming a tune that vibrated in Val’s chest; a complex, multi-layered melody that sounded like wind rushing through a canyon. His hands moved in time with the rhythm, not touching the plants, but hovering over them. The hum vaguely reminded Val of earlier, back in the halls. 

As he hit a low note, the wind picked up, rustling the leaves. As he hit a high note, the rain fell harder, tapping against the broad leaves of the ferns like a drum circle.

"You're flooding the roots," Val said, their voice cutting through the humid air.

The humming stopped instantly.

The rain didn't taper off; it vanished. The grey mist evaporated in a blink, leaving the air clear.

The young man sighed; a long, dramatic exhale. He didn't scramble to his feet or bow. He just wiped his muddy hands on his pants and turned around while staying crouched.

"They were thirsty," he said. His voice was raspy, melodic, like he’d been using it for hours. "Just watering them as all..." As he spoke he paused, collecting himself. "Stopped using the uh... watering system. They filter the collected waters through these convoluted light and fire systems... But... they prefer the real thing."

He stood up then. He was tall, lanky but with a wire-tension strength. His amber eyes locked onto Val’s. There was no fear in them. No awe. Just a detached, sharp curiosity.

"You must be the Heir," he said. "I heard the speech. You were loud."

Val bristled, pulling the Royal Mask back into place. "I am Heir Valode. And you are Saje?"

"That's me," Saje said, kicking a clod of dirt off his boot. "And before you ask... yes, I am related to the Lojmon. But you can rest assured I won't be acting as a spy in any capacity... We... don't talk."

"Evelyn said you were the disappointment," Val said, stepping closer.

Saje snorted softly. "High praise, coming from her. I prefer 'Independent Contractor' myself."

He placed a hand on the wilting fern. "So, you're going to Khijan to modernize them. Bring them the Light?"

"It is the way of the future," Val recited, though the words felt thinner here in the quiet garden than they did in the throne room. "We bring order."

Saje looked up at Val then. For a second, the sarcasm vanished. His gaze drifted to Val’s pocket, where the stone lay hidden, and then up to Val’s eyes.

"Order is nice," Saje murmured, turning back to the plant. He began to hum again, that strange, low frequency. "But things don't grow in perfect order, Heir Valode. They grow in the mess. They grow in the chaos."

Val watched, frowning. As Saje hummed, the fern seemed to... settle. The leaves didn't magically spring up, but they looked less brittle. Maybe it was just the wind.

"How did you do that?" Val asked softly. "The rain. The dome prohibits it."

Saje froze for a second. His eyes darted to the sky, then back to Val. He offered a lopsided, tired grin.

"Resonance," he answered smoothly, though the air around him still crackled with static. "I just found the frequency of the humidity and... encouraged it to condense. It's in the tune."

"It didn't sound like a hum," Val said. "It sounded like a song."

Saje shrugged, picking up a trowel. "I'm always singing, Heir. In my head. It never really stops. My yi calls it noise. I call it... atmosphere."

"Evelyn says you are to be my Advisor," Val said. "For the Tour."

Saje stood up, wiping the last of the dirt from his hands.

"I heard," Saje said. "My yi probably thinks it'll keep me out of trouble. Or maybe he thinks I'm a good leash for you."

Saje stepped closer, looking Val dead in the eye.

"But I'm not a leash, Valode. I'm just a gardener who wants to see the world before your Council burns the rest of it down."

Val felt a shiver. It was the first time anyone had spoken treason so openly, so sharp, that it would be foolish to consider it a joke.

"We leave at dawn," Val said. "Fyn will have the transport ready."

Saje’s face was blank, empty of any emotion, yet he gave Val a gentle nod.

"I'll be there," Saje promised. "Don't worry. I scrub up okay."

Val turned to leave, the wet earth sticking to their shoes. As they walked back toward the glass doors, heading back into the sterile, buzzing perfection of the capital, Val could hear the humming start up again behind them.

Low. Powerful. And sounding distinctly like the rumble of distant thunder.

The rhythm was maddening. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Fyn’s index finger hit the leather steering wheel with the precision of a metronome. To anyone else, it was just a nervous habit. But to Valode, sitting stiffly in the backseat, it felt like a code being punched into the air—a sonar ping searching for a weakness. Next to Val, Saje was slumped against the door, eyes closed. He looked asleep, but a low, steady hum vibrated in his throat. It wasn't a song. It was a drone, a wall of white noise that seemed to swallow Fyn’s tapping before it could reach the backseat. "You have a musical soul, Groundskeeper Saje," Fyn said, his eyes catching Val’s in the rearview mirror. The pleasantness of his tone didn't reach his pupils. "A rare trait these days." Saje didn't open his eyes. The humming just pitched up a fraction, turning the calm air of the transport into static. "Just clearing my throat," Saje murmured. "The air is dryer here..."

The gold of Tsujan didn't fade; it shattered. As the transport crossed the border into the Eastern Sector, the endless, uniform rows of solar arrays gave way to jagged spires of prismatic glass. Khijan rose from the desert floor not like a fortress, but like a memory crystallizing in the sun. Val pressed a hand to the window. The light here was different—softer, fractured into rainbows that danced across the velvet interior of the car. It was beautiful. And it looked terrifyingly fragile. "Inefficient," Fyn commented from the front seat, his voice cutting through Val’s awe. "Glass stores data, but it bleeds heat. They waste forty percent of the solar yield just keeping the archives cool." "They keep history," Val countered, defensive instinct kicking in. "They keep dust," Fyn corrected gently. "But today, we help them upgrade."

As they inched closer to the rainbow city, the beauty left Val in awe. It was the first time she actually remembered some place other than Tsujan. It felt familiar, but somehow safer, less burning and more warming. "So, what's our plan here?" Saje said in a sing-songy tune, as if his hums overlayed his words. Something about it Val could feel it deep within them. "We're helping them upgra-" Val began before being cut off. "No, I mean, what's your strategy?" Saje asked more clearly. "Khijan has resisted modernization since the beginning. They won't just easily accept it. So what's your plan?" Saje asked, curiosity playing on their expression, their hum continuing at a consistent, rhythmic pattern. It almost seemed as though Saje was dampening Fyn's tapping. 

"Well," Val began, "I hadn't planned exactly how. Me... I'd hear them out. Why they are so hesitant. If we can ease their worries they'd have no reason to decline." Something within Val's answer made Saje smile a genuine one for the first time.

"A noble sentiment," Fyn interjected, his voice sliding between them like a blade. The car began to descend, locking onto the magnetic rails of the palace approach. "But do not mistake obstruction for worry, Heir Valode. Prince Romar is not afraid. He is simply... obsolete. He clings to the past because he lacks the vision to see the future."

Tap. Tap.

"Sometimes," Saje murmured, leaning his head back against the seat, "the future is just the past wearing a new hat." Saje allowed a gentle moment of silence to linger over them, "And isn't King Romar acting King of Khijan? He assumes the title now correct?"

Fyn’s eyes narrowed in the mirror, but before he could respond, the transport hissed to a halt.

The doors unlocked quickly. The heat of the drive was instantly replaced by a rush of conditioned, crystalline air. They had arrived at the Archive Palace.

It was blinding.

Unlike the warm, burning gold of Tsujan, the throne room of Khijan was cool and shattered with rainbows. The walls were lined not with stone, but with floor-to-ceiling pillars of clear quartz. Inside the quartz, Val could see shifting patterns of light—millions of terabytes of history, suspended in light-beams. It felt like walking inside a diamond.

In the center of the room sat the Crystal Throne. And swallowed up inside it sat Romar Ire.

He looked smaller than Val remembered from the portraits. He was slouching, one leg thrown over the armrest of the throne, dressed in oversized robes that shimmered with holographic silk. He was spinning a small glass top on his finger, watching the light refract with bored, half-lidded eyes.

But standing in his shadow, silent and terrifyingly still, was Ouhan.

The older brother. The servant. He wore the grey livery of the household staff, blending into the stone floor, but his presence was heavy. His eyes were entirely black—a trait of the Tjava (Void) bloodline that the Council despised. Val followed those deep eyes. He wasn't watching the room; he was watching Fyn.

"Heir Valode of Tsujan," the herald announced. "And the Royal staff of Tsujan; Fyn Ryder of Rhubiti, and Saje Tshu of Rhubiti."

Romar didn't look up from his spinning top. "You’re late. My crystals overheated ten times over."

"Apologies, Acting King," Fyn said, stepping forward with a bow that was just barely deep enough to be respectful. "The road from the capital is long."

"Yeah, yeah," Romar waved a hand dismissively. He finally looked up, and for a split second, Val saw it—the intelligence burning behind the boredom. Val had no way of explaining just how she knew, but something behind his eyes whispered wisdom. He looked at Val, then at Saje, his gaze lingering on the dirty groundskeeper’s tunic. "So, you brought the babysitters. Where are the arsonists?"

"The Delegation from Jefue is arriving now," Fyn said, his voice tightening. "And I would advise respect, Romar. They bring the energy your city so desperately needs."

Romar caught the spinning top in his palm, stopping it dead. "My city needs a lot of things, Fyn Ryder. Like a doctor who can actually cure my father instead of just documenting his decline."

The air in the room dropped ten degrees. Ouhan shifted, his hand moving imperceptibly toward his belt.

Val stepped forward, feeling the tension vibrating in the Amulet. This wasn't a negotiation; it was a threat.

"King Romar... Your Highness," Val said, trying to soften their voice. "We are here to help. The Council believes the thermal upgrade will stabilize the region. We just want to talk."

Romar looked at Val. He looked at the "perfect" Tsujan Heir, the golden robes, the obviously scripted response. He sneered.

"Stabilize," Romar mocked. "Is that what they call it? I call it burning down the library to heat the house."

Before Val could answer, the massive double doors behind them groaned open.

A wave of dry, intense heat rolled into the cool room. The light in the memory-crystals flickered, destabilized by the sudden temperature spike.

"The High Advisor of Jefue," the herald announced, voice trembling. "Kaelin Kira. And..." the herald cleared their throat, almost embarrassed to utter what was on the scroll tablet. "And, the Specimen."

Val turned. Walking in was a woman in sharp, charcoal-colored thermal suits. She walked with the predatory stride of someone who owned the room. Kaelin Kira.

But Val’s eyes were drawn to the figure being dragged behind her.

A girl, no older than twenty. Her skin was translucent, pale as ash, but beneath the surface, her veins pulsed with a terrifying, rhythmic orange glow. She wore heavy metal dampening cuffs on her wrists and neck, and she looked like she was vibrating so quickly, so subtly, that is seemed she didn't even exist on the same plane as them.

"Wren," Val heard whisper from within their mind. "Wren Kira."

Saje, standing beside Val, stopped humming. He took a sharp breath, his body tensing.

"That's not a delegation," Saje whispered, his voice low enough only Val could hear. "That's a bomb."

Kaelin Kira didn't bow. She didn't even look at the Acting King. She stopped in the center of the quartz floor, the heat radiating from her suit causing the delicate frost patterns on the pillars to weep into puddles.

With a sharp jerk of a chain, she pulled Wren forward. The girl stumbled, her knees hitting the hard stone. A low, static hiss escaped her lips—the sound of air burning.

"We offer you the future, King Romar," Kaelin said, her voice clipped and corporate. "This is Unit 7. A direct conduit to the Jefue Solar-Core. One of her... episodes... generates enough thermal output to power your entire archival grid for a month. No more cooling failures. No more data loss."

Romar stared at the girl on the floor. His spinning top had shattered in his hand, crushed by his own grip.

"Unit 7," Romar repeated, his voice low. "She has a name. She’s your sister."

"She is a resource," Kaelin corrected without blinking. "And Jefue is generous enough to share her. All you need to do is sign the Modernization Accord. We remove the crystal storage, install the thermal intakes, and Unit 7 remains here as your battery."

Wren’s head snapped up. Her eyes were white—no iris, no pupil—just blinding, molten light.

"No," Wren rasped. The word came out like sparks flying from a grinder. "Too... hot."

The dampening cuffs on her neck flared red. A warning beep echoed through the hall.

"Stabilize," Kaelin ordered, reaching for a dial on her belt to increase the dampening voltage.

It was the wrong move.

Instead of dimming, Wren screamed. It wasn't a ide scream; it was the sound of a star collapsing. A shockwave of pure Plasma erupted from her skin. Her veins etched into her skin like tree roots. 

The quartz pillars closest to her cracked and spread outward. The air turned instantly into a shimmering mirage of heat.

"Get back!" Ouhan roared, tackling Romar off the throne just as the Crystal Throne turned slag-red from the heat blast.

Kaelin was thrown backward, sliding across the floor. Fyn didn't move; he simply stood still, his cape billowing in the hot wind, watching with terrifying calculation.

Wren was vibrating, her body convulsing as the energy trapped inside her sought an exit. She was going to detonate.

"She’s going critical!" Saje yelled, shielding his face with his arm. "Val, get down!"

But Val didn't get down.

The Harmonic Key in Val’s pocket was burning—not with heat, but with a magnetic pull. It wasn't warning Val to run; it was screaming at them to touch... connect.

Val moved before they could think. They broke away from Saje’s grip and ran toward the center of the inferno.

"Valode, no!" Fyn’s voice cut through the roar, losing its pleasant veneer for the first time. Saje could almost swear it sounded not like Fyn, but someone he'd heard before. 

Val ignored him. The heat was unbearable, singing the edges of their ceremonial robes, but Val didn't stop until they were kneeling in front of Wren.

Wren looked up, her face twisted in agony, the plasma boiling beneath her skin. She raised a hand as if to ward Val off, or perhaps to burn them.

Val didn't flinch. They reached out and grabbed Wren’s burning hands.

Contact.

Val expected pain. They expected flesh to melt.

Instead, a rush of cool, rushing water roared in Val’s ears.

Interflow.

Val’s internal "Water Shield",  the legacy of Li, surged forward, guided by the Amulet. It didn't extinguish Wren’s fire; it held it. Like a cup holding molten gold.

The blinding white light of Wren’s skin shifted, softening into a deep, stable amber. The screaming heat dissipated into a warm, gentle steam that smelled of rain on hot pavement.

Wren gasped, her eyes clearing. The white faded, revealing terrified, human irises, still as pale as the sun. She stared at Val, her chest heaving.

"Quiet," Wren whispered, tears steaming as they touched her cheeks. "It's... quiet."

Val held her gaze, their own hands glowing with a faint, prismatic aura where they touched Wren’s plasma. "I’ve got you," Val whispered. "Just breathe."

Behind them, Fyn took a step forward, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Val’s hands. He was looking for the source of the anomaly. He was scanning for the source of the energy. Was this pure power coming from Valode? 

Suddenly, a loud, discordant hum filled the room.

It was Saje. He had scrambled to his feet and was dusting himself off, humming a chaotic, erratic tune that bounced off the glass walls, creating an auditory mess.

"Wow!" Saje shouted over his own humming, clapping his hands together loudly to break the tension—and the sonic read. "That was close! Good thing the Heir has such cold hands, right? Prim always says Val has poor circulation!"

Fyn stopped. He looked at Saje, irritation flashing across his face. The scan was broken.

Romar peeked over the edge of the ruined dais, Ouhan helping him up. The Acting King looked at the slagged throne, then at Wren, and finally at Val.

He didn't look bored anymore. He looked awake.

Kaelin scrambled up, adjusting her suit, trying to regain her dignity. "A minor malfunction. She needs recalibration. If you sign the—"

"Get out," Romar said. His voice wasn't loud, but it was absolute.

"Acting King, be reasonable," Fyn warned, stepping to Kaelin’s side. "The Council will not look kindly on—"

"I said get out!" Romar shouted, his voice cracking with the strain of a boy trying to be a King. He pointed a trembling finger at the doors. "Take 'battery' and your 'future' and get out of my city before I have Ouhan throw you out the window. We can settle upon an agreement once you have results we can trust!"

Fyn stared at Romar for a long moment. Then, slowly, the pleasant mask slid back into place.

"As you wish, Your Highness," Fyn said. "We will return to the Capital. I will inform the Council of your... decision."

He turned his gaze to Val. "Come, Heir Valode. It seems we are done here."

Val squeezed Wren’s hands one last time before letting go. "It won't last long... But, i'll be back," Val whispered.

Wren gave a tiny, imperceptible nod.

As Val stood and walked back to Fyn and Saje, they felt the weight of Ouhan’s stare on their back. But it wasn't the hostile stare from before. It was the look of a shadow that had just found a light it didn't hate.

They walked out of the Archive, leaving the heat behind. But as the doors closed, Val knew the truth.

The war hadn't just started. It had just entered the room.