After two long days of forced sleeplessness, Lucanis rose with difficulty and said in a curt tone:

  “I’m going to sleep. I haven’t closed my eyes in two days. Kael, you’re taking first watch. And I’m not giving you a choice. You ruined our lives for forty-eight hours, so consider this payback. If I catch you nodding off during your watch… you won’t wake up again.”

  There was no irony in his voice.

  Kael froze for a moment, unsure whether he should laugh or apologize again.

  “I already told you I was sorry… but it was for a good reason.”

  Lucanis wrapped himself in his cloak, his back to the fire, and fell asleep in less than two minutes—like an utterly spent soldier.

  Kael and Althéa were left alone.

  Silence settled in. Only the fire crackled softly. The thick cloaks draped over their shoulders dulled the drafts winding between the stones.

  Althéa broke the silence, her voice calm:

  “I believe we had a conversation left unfinished. For about two days now.”

  Kael recalled the moment.

  The night when the Class-S had appeared, taking the shape of a fragile child.

  What a terrible evening, he thought.

  “Right. I still have a thousand questions. I think you mentioned the… Primogenes, didn’t you? What exactly are they?”

  Althéa stared at him intently, almost surprised.

  “I’m always amazed that you don’t know what they are… As I told you, they are the foundation of our world.”

  She raised a finger toward the sky to emphasize her words.

  “The Primogenes are the primordial entities at the origin of the universe. They are the ones who shaped humanity.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow, puzzled.

  “You mean The Primordial Mother? Yeah, I know about her. But I didn’t know she was part of a group. I thought she was alone—the big boss, you know.”

  This time, Althéa arched an eyebrow too—but her gaze was inquisitive, almost intrigued.

  “You only know her? Well… given your situation, that’s not entirely surprising. Listen.”

  She straightened slightly.

  “The Primordial Mother created life, yes. But only life. Not what we are. Not entirely. The other Primogenes each added a piece to the structure. There are nine of them in total.”

  She listed them calmly, as if reciting a sacred litany:

  “Life.

  Thought.

  Ego.

  Love.

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  Perception.

  Dream.

  Instinct.

  Memory.

  Doubt.”

  “Each of them contributed a facet. Incomplete, of course. But essential. Together, they gave shape to humanity as we know it. Gods, if you want…”

  Kael listened closely, fascinated despite himself.

  “And where are they now? Because The Primordial Mother—everyone talks about her… but I’ve never seen her stroll through the Broken Crown.”

  He said it with a mocking edge.

  Althéa smiled faintly, amused by his tone.

  “No one knows where they are. Perhaps in the Immaterial… perhaps they don’t even have physical forms. We don’t know. We assume.”

  Kael frowned.

  “Honestly, if they’re not here, what’s the point? Creating a world and then letting it spin on its own… that’s completely stupid.”

  Sarcastic—but not without a trace of bitterness.

  Althéa looked at him seriously.

  “They are still here, Kael. Not physically. But their concepts are within us. All the time. They pass through us. They make us what we are.”

  Kael nodded slowly, then asked:

  “And… do they each have a name? Because ‘The Primordial Mother’ sounds right. But the others—what are they called?”

  This time, a spark of passion crossed Althéa’s face. She loved this subject—it was obvious.

  “Of course. These are ancient, symbolic names. Here they are:

  The Primordial Mother for Life.

  The Unfinished for Thought.

  The Immutable for Ego.

  The Lost for Love.

  The Erased for Perception.

  The Oneiric for Dream.

  The Instinctive for Instinct.

  The Immemorial for Memory.

  And finally, The Indecisive for Doubt.”

  She went on:

  “They sometimes appear on the material plane. It’s rare, but it’s not a legend. There are traces. Accounts. Survivors.”

  Kael parted his lips, intrigued.

  “Wait… you mean they can interact with us?”

  “Yes. And even… bless individuals. My ancestor, Soléandra, was personally blessed by The Lost.”

  “Love, right?”

  “Exactly. And that blessing was passed down… generation after generation.”

  Kael narrowed his eyes.

  “So… you’re blessed by a god. That’s what you’re telling me?”

  She smiled gently, the way one smiles at a child asking a na?ve question.

  “Yes and no. I carry the blessing of The Lost, the Primogene of Love. But as long as I do not wield the Elan, that blessing is… useless to me. Invisible. Inactive.”

  Kael nodded slowly, curious.

  “And how does someone get blessed?”

  Althéa shrugged, enigmatic.

  “You do something impossible. Or completely insane. Something unique enough to draw their gaze.”

  Kael smiled.

  “And your ancestor—what did she do to deserve it?”

  Althéa straightened. Her expression changed. More solemn.

  “She killed Evil.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow.

  “Evil?”

  “A being capable of manipulating the hearts of men. A living corruption. She destroyed it. And then she built the kingdom on its ashes.”

  Kael whistled softly through his teeth.

  “One hell of a figure, your ancestress.”

  He leaned back slightly, arms crossed beneath his cloak, his gaze lost in the flames.

  “I’d like to be blessed by a Primogene too,” he added with a half-smile.

  “Maybe The Indecisive. That way my stupid decisions might sound profound.”

  Silence fell again.

  Not heavy.

  Not comfortable either.

  A raw silence—like the crackling fire, like the fatigue that lingered around them.

  Kael stared into the embers. His thoughts drifted—not toward the gods, nor toward Soléandra. Toward the Shards. The Relics.

  From time to time, his eyes strayed toward Althéa. She wasn’t speaking anymore. She was absently playing with a coal, rolling it with a small charred stick, focused on its glow.

  She was beautiful—but in a quiet way, without pose or intent. Her white hair—short, almost unreal—floated softly in the evening air. And her amethyst eyes…

  Kael looked away.

  And suddenly, a memory struck him.

  The cemetery.

  The Broken Crown. That strange night.

  Two men.

  A secret conversation.

  One of them with a sing-song voice.

  “The Axis.”

  “The princess.”

  “Sylene.”

  The words came back to him like knives left buried too long.

  His eyes widened. Curiosity surged through him like a wave. He had to know.

  He straightened slightly and turned toward her. She was still playing with the ember. He watched her profile—that quiet intensity she carried even at rest.

  “What is… the Axis?”

  The stick stopped dead.

  Althéa didn’t move for a second.

  Then, slowly, she raised her head toward him. Her eyes were wide—but it wasn’t surprise. Not really.

  It was… a prohibition.

  She stared at him with a look he had never seen on her before.

  The look of someone who has just heard something the other person was never meant to know.