The tea was long gone, but no one had stood up yet. Lamps burned low inside the tent, their faint golden light making the place feel more like a study hall than a war camp. The silence stretched like a rubber band. Rhea's voice carried, cool and deliberate.
"Tom," she said, her eyes narrowing with a playful edge, "how would you feel about a debate?"
Tom blinked once. "A…. debate?"
Rhea leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I often challenge people who interest me. And you…" her lips tugged into a subtle smirk, "you interest me more than most."
Arlong immediately shifted in his seat, his hand shooting up. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no. I've heard of her do this before. People walk away red in the face, either humbled or well.... No, completely destroyed."
"Sounds like she's undefeated," Johan said, the grin on his face unmistakable. "And you want to throw my boy Tom into the lion's den?"
"I'm not throwing him anywhere," Rhea replied smoothly. "I'm offering. He can decline."
Everyone looked at Tom. He sat still, fingers resting on the table. He gave no answer for a long moment.
"Do I get to pick the subject?" he asked finally.
Rhea tilted her head. "That's for the judges."
"Judges?"
"Mm," she hummed. "A debate without a judge is just noise. Johan and Arlong. They'll judge."
Arlong frowned deeply, pointing at Johan. "Don't drag me into your fun. I'm not—"
"You're already in," Johan cut him off, patting his shoulder. "Think of it as training for your backbone."
Arlong groaned, muttering something about wishing he stayed back at the bunker.
Johan leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. "Alright then. Me and Arlong will decide the topic and the stance each of you must take. No one gets to choose their role. That makes it fair."
Rhea smiled, pleased. "Excellent."
Tom only nodded, but his eyes flicked toward Johan. Quiet suspicion.
Before the subject could be revealed, Arlong raised his hand again. "Hold on. Before we doom this kid, can we at least agree on one thing? No yelling and absolutely no dragging the judge into the argument. I don't want to die in a crossfire."
Johan chuckled. "Relax. It's just words."
Arlong shot him a look. "Words can kill faster than swords, old man."
Rhea let out a soft laugh. "You're wiser than you appear, Arlong."
Tom sat back in his chair, silent, but there was the faintest upward curl at the corner of his mouth. He didn't say it out loud, but the thought hung in him clear.
Johan and Arlong leaned closer together, whispering in half-jokes and half-serious tones. Arlong kept shaking his head, muttering, "You're insane," while Johan only grinned wider. Finally, Johan clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention.
"Alright," he announced, "subject's settled. The debate is: 'Is chaos more necessary than order for survival?'"
Tom's brows lifted slightly, but he stayed quiet.
"Also," Johan continued, "roles are reversed. Tom will argue for chaos, while Rhea will argue for order."
Arlong sighed, rubbing his temple. "May the gods forgive us."
Rhea's smirk sharpened. "Interesting choice. You're giving me the comfortable ground."
Johan winked at Tom. "That's the point. Let's see how good you are when the ground is against you."
The room shifted the moment Johan declared the topic. Even the air seemed heavier, the faint sound of desert winds outside brushing against the canvas of the camp.
Arlong sat straighter, crossing his arms, while Johan leaned back, smiling like a child about to watch his favorite game.
Rhea didn't waste time. She lifted her cup of tea, took a slow sip, and set it down with practiced elegance. "Survival," she began, voice steady, "has only ever been achieved through order. Order gives structure, stability, and predictability. Without it, humanity collapses into chaos like a tower without foundation. Order is the spine of civilization."
Her gaze slid to Tom, daring him.
Tom scratched his jaw, calm, almost expressionless. "Order creates illusion," he said, measured. "But when storms come before famine, war, night hunts — it is chaos that forces growth. Order is comfort, but comfort dulls instincts. Chaos breaks you in pieces, making you bolder, it teaches you. Chaos is the forge, order is the cage."
Arlong shifted in his seat, clearly enjoying this already.
Rhea leaned forward. "A cage? Tell that to the survivors who live because of rules, routines, shared roles. Without order, what do you have? Madmen with daggers. Fractured groups. Fear. Humanity doesn't survive by embracing chaos, it dies faster."
Tom let silence hang, then spoke, softer. "And still we are here because order failed. Your sects, your gods, your systems of prayer. Where was your 'order' when the Overseer began to wake? It was chaos that forced people like Johan.… like Eli— whatever.… to stand when no structured creed could save anyone."
That hit. Johan's grin faltered into something more thoughtful.
Rhea recovered quickly, narrowing her eyes. "You mistake exceptions for rules. Individual sparks of chaos may ignite resistance, yes. But resistance without order is meaningless. One blaze that burns too hot, too wild, consumes itself. Order sustains where chaos collapses."
Tom raised his finger, almost amused. "Wrong. Chaos births order. Every order is born out of collapse. Civilizations are children of ruins. Without chaos first, there is nothing to 'sustain.' You argue order sustains life and I argue the chaos which gives it meaning."
Arlong's brows lifted. "That… was a critical strike."
Rhea inhaled, sharper now. "Meaning does not matter if there is no one left to live. Chaos endangers survival. A starving man cannot philosophize about meaning when his ribs are breaking from hunger. He needs bread, order, structure."
Tom's lips curved faintly. "When the bread runs out? When structure crumbles? He survives not because of order, but because chaos demanded he learn to adapt, to hunt, to create anew. Survival isn't about order. It's about the ability to walk through chaos and still stand."
The debate carried on for long minutes, back and forth like blades clashing. Rhea's points cut with logic, precise, leaning on history and discipline. Tom's words struck like quiet daggers, unpredictable, forcing everyone to reconsider foundations.
When silence finally came, Johan leaned back, sighing like a satisfied gambler. "Time's up." He looked at Arlong. "Scores?"
Arlong rubbed his temple. "For clarity and delivery, Rhea: 9.0 out of 10. For depth and unpredictability, Tom: 9.2 out of 10."
Rhea froze, then gave a small, rueful smile. "Hmph. Unexpected."
Johan clapped Tom on the shoulder. "Well done, kid. Sometimes, a little chaos wins."
Rhea leaned back, eyes glinting. "This isn't over. You argue well but in a world built on survival, order still holds the crown."
Tom said nothing. Just sipped his water, calm as ever. Didn't say anything since the debate is over.
The stone corridor they were led through smelled faintly of iron and incense. Torches burned along the walls, their flames restless against the draft.
Rhea guided them to a modest resting chamber. The rugs on the ground, low seats, a clay jug of water waiting in the corner.
"Stay here," she said with a smile that never reached her eyes. "Tomorrow, perhaps, I'll show you more of our treasures." Then she left, silk hem brushing against the stone, the door thudding closed behind her.
The faint hum of machinery somewhere deeper underground whispered like a heart hidden inside the camp.
Tom leaned forward, eyes sharp. "So… this isn't just a meet and greet."
Johan's smirk returned, but his tone was serious. "No. Our true aim lies beneath their pride and display. The Hildigger."
Arlong blinked. "The what?"
Johan rubbed his temples. "Think of it like a living archive. Not books, not scrolls. This machine is even the right word that holds layered centuries of data, connections, and blueprints of every organization that ever touched this desert. It remembers. Problem is, it's broken. Needs scraps, components and fragments, these zealots guard like holy relics."
Tom's brow furrowed. "what if we fix it?"
"We'll know where the real game pieces are," Johan said flatly. "Including the artifact — Lea Infra."
Arlong's cheer dulled, his usual grin fading into something heavier. "I've heard of it. They say it's not just an artifact. A resonance that lets you bend pathways in this world. If it's down there, under their chamber, and we take it—"
Tom cut in quietly. "Then every sect in the desert will hunt us."
The words settled like lead.
Arlong exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "So… what's the plan? Sneak? Break in? Play politics until she hands it over with tea?"
Johan's eyes glinted. "We'll need all three. Scrap first. Without the Hildigger, we're blind. Once it's on, we can trace where the Lea Infra connects. If we just grab it, we won't even know what beast we're pulling its chain from."
Tom stared at the jug of water, then finally spoke. "What if Hildigger itself doesn't want to be turned on? Machines like that.… they're not passive. If it remembers more than we can handle?"
The thought hung in the chamber. Arlong laughed nervously. "Kid, are you saying the damn thing is alive?"
Tom didn't answer.
Johan leaned forward, elbows on knees, voice low. "Alive or not, we have no choice. The Overseer evolved. Every hour wasted tilts the board against us. Lea Infra could be the only counterweight left."
Arlong muttered under his breath. "Steal from an organization under an Eclipse god's shadow, fix an archive that might eat us alive, and run before they burn us in volcano?"
Their mind was full of questions that none knew where to find. For now, it was better.