After a while, Kael finally stopped pacing. His muttering quieted, and for a long while he just stared at the great machine, the glow of its monitors painting his face in fractured light. Then, with a deep exhale, he turned towards Pheo.
"I can't stay here," Kael said, his voice steady again, though still edged with restless urgency. "As much as I want to stay here and study this, to guard it myself, I can't. It'll have to be you, Pheo."
He blinked, "Me?"
"Yes." Kael's gaze didn't waver. "I need you to protect this place. No one else can know of it, not yet at least. We both just found out the importance this place holds over the city, whoever has control of the machine has control of the city."
"Why not you?" Pheo pressed, an unease creeping into his tone. Kael hesitated for a moment before answering. "Because I have to head to the capital. My visit here is supposed to only be about investigating The Ember Pact."
"If I continue to stay in The Free City, it'll only raise suspicions. Not only that, but I also have my deal with Adam, he fulfilled his part, now it's time for me to do mine." He let the weight of his words linger.
He then added, softer this time. "Besides… out of everyone in this city, you're the best person fit for the job. Not the ones who currently rule the city. Not The Director. But you, Pheo."
Pheo frowned, almost incredulous. "What you're asking me is to protect something I don't even understand. In case you didn't know, I'm still eight years old. I don't think people who would go after something this important would be scared of a single eight year old."
Kael's lips curved into a rare, reassuring smile. "You'll figure it out. After all, it took you only minutes to figure out what would take decades for others. And you shouldn't worry too much, an opportunity will come soon. Trust me."
Something about the certainty in Kael's voice disarmed Pheo, even if it left him with more questions than answers. Without another word, Kael reached for a loose panel and began methodically sealing the hidden entrance again.
Together, they wiped away their tracks. Footprints, disturbed dust, even the faintest signs of their passing. By the end of it, the ruin looked as though it had never been touched.
When they finally emerged from the cistern vaults, the night air felt heavier, The Free City's faint lights shimmering in the distance. They walked side by side, back toward the camp.
The night stretched on as they wound their way back, the rocky path swallowing the sound of their boots. For a long while, neither spoke, the silence only broken by the whistle of wind across the barren hills.
Finally, Pheo's voice cut through. "Kael," he said cautiously, "do you know anything about… someone being imprisoned in ice?" Kael slowed his pace, lantern light catching the edge of his jaw.
"Imprisoned? What are you talking about? Like freezing a man alive?" He had a confused but curious look. "Well, not exactly," Pheo answered. "This wasn't ordinary ice. Someone I know was sealed inside a crystal, a clear and perfect. It doesn't melt, no matter how much heat I put into it. And no matter how hard you strike it, it never cracks. Not even a scratch."
Kael's brows knit together. "Ice that doesn't melt? Not even with constant heat?"
"Already tried."
"Well, how about brute force? Blades, hammers, siege gear?"
"All of them useless," Pheo said, shaking his head. "I've even tried methods that applied more force in both a single and wide area." Kael's tone sharpened. "How about chemicals, acid and corrosives?"
"Tried them all. At least, the ones that wouldn't get me on some sort of dangerous list."
"Magic?"
"I tried asking the ice to pick a card if that's what you mean."
Kael muttered under his breath, rubbing at his temple. "Damn… then it's not bound by physics at all." He glanced at Pheo, his eyes narrowing with something like unease. "What you're describing, it sounds more like a prison than ice. A cage made to hold something."
Pheo hesitated before speaking. "...That thought has crossed my mind before. After all, I've spent more days trying to solve this thing than doing literally anything else." Kael walked in silence for a while, his expression unreadable. Then he said:
"If it truly defies every method you've mentioned, there are only two explanations that make sense to me. Either it's a curse, crafted by an old and malignant entity, or…" he paused, as if weighting the weight of his words, "...a punishment handed down by divinity itself."
Pheo looked at him sidelong, brow furrowed. "Do you actually believe in those things? Curses? Gods meddling in mortal affairs? The paranormal?" Kael gave a humorless smile. "Belief has nothing to do with it. I don't believe in them."
His voice dropped lower. "I've seen them." Pheo's step faltered, but he quickly caught himself. "You've seen… what exactly?" Kael wasn't the type to be fooled by some circus act. There was credibility in his words.
Kael didn't answer right away. His eyes were fixed ahead, but they weren't seeing the road. They looked far ahead, somewhere deep in memory. "As a detective, especially a genius one, you get to be in many unsolvable cases."
"Although most of them end up being easily solvable in a day or two, others… others end up being more than what I've signed up for. Creatures that don't make sense biologically, resurrection, unexplainable phenomena…"
His body shook a bit, "There was this one vivid memory I have. One where a man turned into stone in front of me. Not petrified, not skilled, but turned into stone. His face frozen mid-breath, eyes wide in terror. And when they tried to shatter the body, it bled."
The words sent a chill down Pheo's spine, but he couldn't believe him just from that description. He's seen someone erase parts of someones body, petrification doesn't seem too far off from being someones gift.
He went on to tell Pheo more stories. Ones that sounded unexplainable, that is, if you don't factor the gifts given to people during an awakening. Kael's words carried weight, delivered with conviction sharpened by memory.
Pheo listened, but in his mind, had arguments that could go against Kael's words. Stories like that… they sounded like he was bounded by fear back then, not necessarily thinking straight. That fear then stuck onto him, making him blind from possible explanations.
Yet out of respect for everything Kael had done for him, Pheo only nodded. Inwardly, he still struggled to believe that someone like Kael could make mistakes so easily solved. Yet here he was, convinced of them.
Kael, unaware of Pheo's quiet disbelief, pressed on. "If you want real help with this, don't waste time with scholars or men from the capital like me. They'll only give you theories or treat you like a liar."
He shot him a glance. "If what you're talking of is true, then you go to those who've lived their whole lives in the mountains. Either them or those who wander The Wastes. Experts on these things tend to isolate themselves far from society to avoid judgment from others."
Pheo let out a breath. "Between the two of them, The Wastes should be closer, huh?" Kael gave a short nod. "Try and find them, if you're serious about what you're talking about. Just… be ready. They're usually peculiar."
The two of them walked on, silence swallowing the path again, though this time it wasn't empty. Kael seemed lost in grim memories, while Pheo quietly turned Kael's words over in his mind, trying to decide whether he should believe in him or not.
After passing through the camp's perimeter lights, they eventually hit the work near the water posts. "Tomorrow," Kael said, not quite looking at Pheo. "You'll see what I meant." Pheo gave a short nod.
They split, with Kael heading towards the command bridge, Pheo back to the medical tents. The infirmary canvas breathed with the night breeze. He laid back and stared at the sloped ceiling, mind circling the buried machine and Adam's certainty.
And somewhere between his constant thoughts, the hiss of the lantern, and the murmur of distant guards, sleep took him. He fell, his mind wandering off elsewhere. And for a while, the stress from his struggles went away.
A hand on his shoulder brought him fast. "They're asking for you," the medic said, gentle but insistent. "You really should come." Pheo blinked away the blur, swung his feet down, and followed the growing swell of voices up toward the square.
By the time he arrived, celebration had already taken shape. Lanterns hung from improvised lines, firelight braided with the stubborn glow of surviving streetlamps. People packed the plaza, with bandages, soot, and smiles.
The music was stumbling but heartfelt. Then, a hush rolled through as The Director could be seen stepping up onto the stage in his dark suit. He raised a hand, his voice carried cleanly.
"Today, The Free City stands unbroken. The world tests us with all of its challenges. Fire, storm, hunger, blades… And each time, we show the world this city's strength. Each time, we end up rising. Each time, we end up stronger than ever. "
Cheers cracked the night. He let them crest, then lowered hia hand with his tone with it. "But this was no accident. It wasn't some madman's plan to take control over the city. No, it was orchestrated by an organization some of you know all too well. The Dark Church."
A ripple of dread moved through the crowd. It was demoralizing, but it didn't make The Director flinch, not one bit. "They would turn our pride to ash and our unity to fear. They will fail. We do not bow. We do not break. We endure even the strongest of flames."
Applause surged again, fiercely this time. He waited it our, then eased his voice. "And now, we do have proof that we do not stand alone." He gestured to the wind of the stage. "A voice from the Concordists."
Pheo's eyes widened as a girl stepped forward onto the stage, small but unmistakably poised. Recognition hit him instantly, remembering her as the same girl from the alley, the one who had silently judged, calculated, and helped him evade Sylira.
She had grown into this moment, yet her calm composure and unflinching gaze remained unchanged. The crowd murmured in confusion, whispers spreading like wildfire. Why is a child representing The Concordists?
The crowd murmured as she began to speak, her voice steady and clear. "I am the representative of The Concordists coming from The Capital, a child of royalty," she announced.
Whispers rippled through the plaza, disbelief and awe mingling. A child of royalty, here among them in the midst of a city recovering from devastation? The revelation stunned them, shattering preconceptions of distant and prideful rulers.
Then, she raised her right arm. The sleeve slid back to reveal a pristine white flame etched upon her skin, the symbol of royalty. The crowd gasped, the proof undeniable. The sight confirmed her words, leaving no doubt.
Royalty had come to stand among them, not as a spectator, but as a participant in their struggle. She bowed gracefully, her presence commanding yet respectful. "My name is Elysia," she said, "and I apologize for the events that have befallen your city. I come not as an observer, but as a witness… and as one who intends to aid."
Elysia straightened, her gaze sweeping over the crowd with quiet intensity. "Though The Capital has cut its formal ties with The Free City," she continued, "this does not mean that all of us have abandoned you. Some of The Concordists here remain from The Capital, even when their homeland no longer sees value in this land."
A murmur ran through the crowd, a mixture of relief and surprise at the acknowledgement of loyal outsiders. She paused briefly, letting the weight of her words settle.
"They stay," she said, her voice carrying both firmness and hope, "because they believe in this city. They believe in its people. Even after the devastating aftermath of The Ember Pact, even with destruction and loss etched into every street and building, they still see potential. They still see a city that will rise once again. Stronger, wiser, and more resilient than ever before."
Her words resonated, and for the first time in weeks, the crowd's collective posture seemed to lift. Amid the ruins and lingering fear, a seed of confidence had been planted, nurtured by the unexpected presence of a royal child who chose to stand with them, not above them.
Elysia's expression darkened slightly, the weight of truth settling over her words. "Yes," she said, her voice steady but carrying a sharp edge, "The Concordists have failed you. Their failures driving many to despair."
"Some even to the point of joining The Ember Pact, a faction that openly stands against those who were meant to guide and protect you." She let the silence stretch for a moment, allowing the crowd to absorb the gravity of her statement.
Then her tone shifted, becoming firm and resolute. "But this time, it will be different. With The Director here, we will ensure that no faction, no Ember Pact, will ever be needed again. There will be no reason for the people to rise against their rulers."
"I ask of you, the people of The Free City, to give The Concordists one last chance. Let us prove that we are worthy of the trust placed in us, that we can fulfill the roles we were meant to hold, and that we can rebuild alongside you a city that will never falter again."
The crowd was silent for a beat, then a low wave of murmurs began to ripple through them. Some skeptical, some relieved, but all captivated by the sincerity of the young representative's words.
Elysia bowed deeply once more, her scarf brushing against her knees, before she carefully stepped down from the platform. The crowd's eyes followed her, still murmuring, still trying to reconcile the sight of a child of royalty bowing before them.
The Director returned to the front, his presence commanding without needing to raise his voice. He let the noise die down before he spoke. "I will not speak for the Concordists." he said, glancing briefly toward where Elysia now stood among her guards.
"Their words must be their own. Their actions must be their own. What I will do is allow them the opportunity to ask for one more chance from you. Whether they grant it or not…"
His gaze swept across the people, "Is not for me, nor for any ruler, to decide. It is yours. Always yours." The declaration struck the square like a weight, grounding them. For a moment, even those most skeptical found themselves quiet, almost moved by the reminder that their will was what mattered the most, not the capital's or The Director's.
The Director let the silence linger, then his expression softened, shifting the moment forward. "But before we speak of futures and promises," he continued, "we must honor those who gave everything to preserve this city when it was at its most fragile."
"Without them, we would not stand here today." He raised his hand, and the crowd's attention turned to the side of the stage, where four figures were led forward.
Anora, her posture straight but her eyes carrying the weight of every strike she'd endured. A well known figure that held the respect of many for her achievements.
Sylira, walking with sharp and deliberate steps, her presence both fierce and unyielding. A surprise to others as she looked to be years younger than the rest.
Don, with his movements as steady as stone yet his presence being almost the same as The Directors.
Wing, who although calm-eyes, had an unreadable yet strong expression. His eyes were of those of a hawk, catching every detail his gaze could land on.
The Director stepped toward them one by one. From a velvet-lined case, he took a medal. It was shaped like a silver flame wreathed in laurel, a reminder. He went up and placed it carefully upon each operative himself.
"To Anora," he said, fastening the clasp, "for her courage and unbreakable defense in the face of chaos."
"To Sylira," he intoned as he set the medal upon her, "for her resolve, her strikes strong and true when others would've backed off."
"To Don," he said, placing the third medal firmly against his chest, "For his unwavering strength, proving that offence truly is the best defence."
"And to Wing," the final medal was clasped, the Director meeting his gaze for a moment, "for his precision and steadfastness, guiding his allies using his bullets even when the path was unclear."
The crowd erupted into cheers. Not the frenzied kind, but the deep, resounding applause of gratitude. It rolled like thunder through the square, voices raised not for factions, not for promises, but for the people who had stood between them and ruin.
The Director stepped back, allowing the four to face the city, each adorned with the silver flame. "These are not just medals," he said, his voice carrying over the roar of the crowd. "They are the living proof that this city is worth fighting for."
The applause for the operatives faded into a steady rumble of pride and gratitude. The Director did not let it die out completely. He raised his hand once more, and the crowd, still buzzing, grew quiet again.
"There are others," he said, his tone shifting to something more warm, almost personal. "Not bound by duty, not sworn by oath, yet they chose to stand with us. Their bravery, to join in when no one would have faulted them for turning away, is truly remarkable."
"And it is because of their bravery that we uncovered the truth of this conflict before it was too late." His eyes swept the square before he gestured to the side of the stage. "Kael. The boy genius who, despite his youth, fought with the mind and heart of a veteran."
Pheo felt the doctor behind him constantly push him closer to stage, stopping only when he was at the side stage. "Pheo. A traveler new to our city, who refused to stay silent when shadows stirred."
"Together, these two were the first to unearth Elion's betrayal, the thread that led us to The Dark Church." A murmur rolled through the people, some with disbelief due to their age, while others astonished for achieving such a feat at a young age.
Their small figures stood in stark contrast to the weight of The Director's words. Children who were barely past infancy stood along operatives known for their abilities, being among the heroes that fought for them.
The crowd's reaction was a tide of shock. Whispering in disbelief and shaking their heads. While others leaned forward, their eyes wide as though needing to truly see it to believe it.
"And lastly," the Director pressed on, his voice steady against the rising noise, "Thorne. Assistant to Kael. A man who laid down his life in defense of this city along with his master, he stands as proof of the cost some must bear so the rest of us may live."
At his gesture, Thorne emerged. He was limping, bandaged, every step a testament to the sacrifice The Director spoke of. The crowd hushed at once, reverence overcoming their astonishment.
The Director stepped to each in turn, presenting them their medals.
"To Kael," he said, fastening the silver flame around the boy's neck, "for proving that genius is not just knowledge, but the courage to act when it matters most."
"To Pheo," the medal pressed gently against his chest, "for showing us that even those who arrive as strangers can become defenders of our home."
"And to Thorne," his voice softened, heavy with respect, "for the will to fight, the will to give, even when every reason told him to walk away. For a bravery that will not be forgotten."
This time, the crowd did not cheer immediately. They stared, at the children so young, yet standing on the stage like seasoned heroes. At Thorne, half-broken but alive. At first glance, no one would guess that they were the ones who saved them.
A silence hung in the air, thick with awe and disbelief. Then the applause erupted again, louder, deeper, not just celebration but an ovation. One of respect, of wonder, of realization that anyone can truly be a hero.
The Director let the applause carry for a while before raising his hand again, quieting the crowd. His gaze swept across the stage. At the seasoned operatives, The Concordists envoys, and then to the three unlikely figures who stood out all the more for their youth and scars.
"And finally, there is one more matter," he said, his voice resonant. "To these three brave individuals, They stepped forward when they did not have to, and in doing so, helped turn the tide."
"Such selflessness deserves more than our applause. The Free City owes them a debt. And I would like to pay for it. I will grant each of them a reward of their choosing, anything within my power to give."
The crowd stirred, murmurs rising again. It was an unprecedented gesture. Kael lowered his head slightly, hands tucked behind his back. "I'll save mine for later, there may be a time when I'll need to call on it."
The Director studied him for a heartbeat, then gave a slow nod. "How wise of you. A request held for the right moment can shape a future. As expected of a genius from their generation."
Thorne, leaning heavily on his cane, shook his head faintly. "I've been given enough blessing in my life. Life itself is more than reward enough for me." His voice was rough, but steady.
The Director stepped closer, laying a hand on Thorne's shoulder. "Then may your life, hard-earned as it is, be lived with the honor you've won." He said before turning to the last person on stage.
Finally, all eyes turned to Pheo. Unlike the others, there was no hesitation in him. This was a chance, one that Kael had told him about yesterday, and he wasn't going to fumble. "I actually do have something in mind."
"I wanted to get The Crimson Hall." The crowd reacted instantly from his words. Confused murmurs, disbelief, some even gasped. The Crimson Hall, though scarred by battle, was a structure tied deeply to the city's history.
"I was captivated by its design," Pheo continued. "By its presence. I want it for myself and for those I permit to enter. No others." The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the soft shifting of the crowd.
While some looked offended by his audacity. Others were intrigued by his wish, others in awe. The Director regarded Pheo for a long moment, studying the boy who spike like a man far older than his years.
Then, without a smile, but with the gravity of a ruler binding his word, he inclined his head. "Very well." He turned to an aide at the side of the stage, speaking in low tones. Documents were hurriedly brought forward, wax seals readied with signatures demanded.
The process, though rushed, was thorough, overseen personally by The Director himself. Minutes later, the deed was done. He returned to the boy, extending the parchment, an official transfer, sealed with the mark of The Free City.
"The Crimson Hall is yours, Pheo. By right, and by law." The weight of his words carried through the plaza. A child, barely eight years old, now stood as the sole master of one of the city's proudest halls.
The crowd erupted again, but this time, the applause was mixed with whispers, doubt, and awe. Some saw boldness in him, others arrogance. But none could deny the boy's conviction.
And Pheo, holding the parchment in his hands, felt the first true weight of power settle into his grasp.