Alric opened his eyes. He was somewhere else.
His clothes were perfectly stitched back together. His bruises and wounds were gone—no pain, no strain. He breathed deeply, effortlessly.
He looked up at the heavens.
The night sky was beautiful.
Endless stars stretched across it like a perfect canvas.
Too perfect.
Alric stared in silence, lying atop a small grassy hill. He didn't know how long he had been there—nor what happened after he was taken.
But he felt… safe.
It was quiet. The only light came from the two moons above and the endless stars.
It was… peaceful.
"I miss my mother."
The ground beneath him shattered.
A violent tremor split the hill apart. Alric reacted on instinct, rolling forward and scrambling to his feet.
He ran.
Something was coming.
Heavy footsteps thundered behind him, each step shaking the earth. A roar followed—loud, piercing, like a war trumpet tearing through the night.
He didn't look back.
He couldn't.
His eyes stayed forward, unblinking, fixed only on escape.
Branches tore at his skin as he sprinted through a twisted forest. His heart
pounded violently, breath uneven, cold sweat clinging to his body.
Then he heard it—
Claws.
Digging.
Each strike carved into the earth like it was nothing.
Whatever was chasing him… this wasn't his world.
This was what the ancient scriptures spoke of.
The Archives.
The Aviditors' playground.
It growled.
Alric ducked behind a tree, forcing himself still. Slowly, carefully, he peeked.
It looked like a mole.
No—
Something far worse.
Massive. Twisted. Rotting from the inside out. Its nose had grown into a grotesque tusk, like bone forced outward by disease. Its claws tore through the ground, leaving craters with every movement.
It was… horrifying.
Alric didn't move.
Fear held him in place.
But beneath it—
Curiosity.
The scriptures never mentioned animals or beasts.
Did the Aviditors toy with them too?
How far did their cruelty go… to twist even creatures whose desires were nothing more than instinct?
Then he heard it—
Clanking.
Iron striking something hard.
Alric carefully peered through the trees.
A man—a knight.
No… five of them.
They were fighting the beast.
"ROWAN, FLANK IT! SYRIA—use your ability! Put that thing to sleep! The rest of you, stall it!"
The one shouting commands moved with precision, as if he had done this countless times—despite looking no older than Alric.
His men obeyed instantly.
The woman—Syria—stepped forward, exhaling a thick mist from her mouth. It poured into the beast's open wounds, seeping deep inside.
The creature staggered.
Then slowed.
Then collapsed.
Alric stared, stunned.
Humans.
Here?
Relief flickered in his chest—but it didn't settle.
Their shields bore banners. Symbols. Allegiance.
Even here…
"Do humans still cling to power?" he whispered to himself.
And their armor—
Iron.
Old world material.
So they had resources. Structure. Order.
He watched for too long.
A blade pressed against his neck.
Cold.
Sudden.
"Don't move."
Alric froze.
He hadn't even seen them approach.
"Are you human…" the voice muttered behind him, tightening the blade slightly, "…or one of the false ones?"
False ones?
"N-no—I'm human," Alric stammered, raising his hands slowly. "I was an orphan in Santa…"
He stopped.
Where was it?
"…I—"
A sharp kick slammed into his side.
He hit the ground hard, air ripped from his lungs.
He gasped, struggling to breathe.
The strength behind that blow wasn't normal, even for a knight.
A boot pressed into his back, forcing him down.
The captain.
"I'll give you one chance," he said coldly.
Steel hovered at Alric's neck.
"Prove to me you're human."
Alric's heart pounded violently.
"I—I was taken here!" he blurted. "I exposed one of them—an Aviditor! And it nearly killed me! It brought me here!"
The blade didn't move.
"You mean… you actually saw through one?"
The knights exchanged glances—uncertain, uneasy.
"No way…" one of them muttered. "Even the pope of our time was one—the one that took me."
The captain's sword remained fixed at Alric's neck.
Alric's vision shook.
"It's true," he said quickly. "You can tell—I saw through him. That's how I exposed Father Barentas!"
Syria froze.
"Barentas…?" she repeated. "My memory is unclear, but… if I'm right, he was a parish priest. In Monico, correct?"
Alric's eyes widened.
Hope flickered.
"YES. HIM!"
The group turned toward Syria. Then back to Alric.
The captain didn't move.
Not yet.
"…Fine," he said at last.
The pressure on Alric's back eased slightly—but the blade stayed close.
"We're sparing you," the captain continued. "But don't misunderstand."
The steel pressed just enough to remind him.
"A blade will always be at your neck. Understood?"
Alric swallowed.
"…Yes."
Safe—
Not safe.
But alive.
For now.