"For you, I will abandon my celestial dance. For you, I will freeze myself at the Zenith, prisoner of my own oath so that its moon can no longer deceive Men. You will owe me your vigilance. For I will watch without rest: watch also."

  — Words of Solar?s, X

  Revealed to Thérion the Veiled, Year 1 of the Endless Day

  After a long march through the capital, the Solar Guard's rank arrived before the Repentir. Each squadron took position facing the barricades, motionless under the furnace of the sky, waiting for the March to begin. Behind the protections, the crowd gradually gathered, pressed and disparate.

  Some came hoping to see a loved one, having obtained a second chance, begin the pilgrimage to the Valley of Mercy to atone for their sins, dreaming of their return. Others, on the contrary, were there for a last look at those who had hurt them, robbed them, or deprived them of a loved one, before the Sun claimed them in unspeakable suffering.

  For the Order offered a second chance, but was it really a chance? In this scorched world, ravaged by centuries of heat, reaching the Valley on foot, with only two flasks of water as resources, was more of a miracle than an opportunity. Many had left. Too few returned.

  Yet, between rotting for life in the dungeons of the Repentir or taking one's chance during the March of Expiation, the choice seemed obvious to some. In Solheim, as throughout the kingdom, every sin made a man a heretic, even an Abomination, depending on the gravity of his acts. In his infinite goodness, Solar?s had indeed sealed Nihibell to save humanity, but the shadow she had insinuated into the hearts of Men could not be totally erased. Thus, the slightest deviation was punished with implacable severity.

  When the bells rang the fourth clarity, the gates of the Repentir opened in a rumble that shook the street. The procession set off, preceded by a dozen priests in immaculate white robes, holding golden staffs adorned with censers and tinkling rings. With each step, they struck the ground rhythmically, making the rings resonate and releasing volutes of incense with fruity fragrances, which masked the fetid odor of the Outskirts. Their chant, grave and monotonous, filled the air.

  Behind them, a hundred heretics, dressed in white hooded tunics, barefoot on the burning pavement, advanced in silence, framed by soldiers in gleaming armor. The March unfolded thus, the priests' songs and the clinking of their staffs covering the tears or insults.

  Then a man collapsed.

  His feet calcined by the incandescent pavement no longer carried him. He tried to get up, but his legs refused. The procession didn't stop. The condemned before him continued to advance, indifferent or too exhausted to turn around. Those behind went around him. His body was dragged on the burning stones, his white tunic staining with dust and blood. His moans were lost in the imperturbable psalms of the priests. The soldiers didn't flinch, lances pointed toward the rest of the procession. Either he would get up, or the Sun would claim him before even the Valley.

  A few meters further, the man managed to hoist himself to his knees, then standing, staggering. He resumed his march, the torn tunic revealing scraped and bloody skin.

  The procession finally reached the Southern Gates, already open. There, the priests stepped aside, and the soldiers tightened their circle around the heretics, lances pointed, inflexible gazes. None would accompany them. The paved road leading to the Valley of Mercy was their only path. In this dead and hostile world, this way represented their only chance. Those who thought of deviating from it knew their fate sealed in torments even worse than those promised by the Sun.

  The first heretics crossed the threshold. Then, suddenly, a man froze. He turned back toward the capital, toward the golden towers that glittered in the distance. His body began to tremble. And in a tearing, bestial cry, he threw himself at the soldiers.

  The lances pierced him. One, two, three. The steel sank into his flesh while his white tunic blossomed with red. The body sagged, sliding slowly along the shafts, before collapsing on the pavement. A priest murmured a mechanical prayer, without even looking at the corpse. The other condemned didn't turn around. They continued to advance, crossing the gates one by one.

  Two soldiers dragged the body to the side, depositing it against the enclosure wall like a sack of grain.

  The last heretics passed the threshold. The gates closed with a resounding crash, without ceremony, without farewell. In the eyes of the sentinels posted on the immense ramparts, the white silhouettes soon dissolved into the immensity of the desolate horizon, swallowed by the pitiless light of the desolate lands.

  A strange silence settled, as if the capital held its breath. Then, almost immediately, the rumor of the crowd resumed, first timid, then louder and louder.

  Lieutenant Di Fiorenze made a sharp gesture with his hand. The soldiers deployed along the barricades, beginning to disperse the crowd with mechanical efficiency. Some spectators still lingered, staring at the closed gates, but most were already moving away, returning to their daily occupations. The March was over. Life resumed its course.

  Immediately done, the members of the Solar Guard regrouped on the now emptied square. The lieutenant passed before the ranks, briefly inspecting his men with a cold and methodical gaze.

  "Break ranks. Resume your usual patrols and keep your eyes wide open," he ordered simply before addressing the Vaan Hart. "The Captain awaits you in his offices. Don't keep him waiting."

  The soldiers acquiesced and began to disperse in groups, their conversations resuming an almost banal tone, as if nothing extraordinary had occurred. For them, it was a ritual among others, a routine in the implacable machinery of the Order.

  At a run, squadron VIII left the Outskirts to join the Upper City. Their reinforced leather boots hammered the stone corridors to the Tower of Command, close to the squadron leaders' quarters. They climbed a narrow staircase, enclosed by raw stone walls, cold and damp to the touch, lit by mirrors reflecting the light. At the summit, a massive door stood at the end of a corridor, adorned with suns and crossed blades, its wood gleaming under the colored rays of a colossal stained glass window representing the God of Suns. Siegfried knocked twice, the sound resonating deeply in the panel, and the door pivoted, revealing a guard in light armor, his helmet set with golden rays masking his face, who let him pass without a word.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  They entered the Captain's offices. With a sharp gesture, Siegfried raised his fist, and the squadron instantly aligned in tight formation. Together, they brought their right fist to their solar plexus in the solemn salute of the Solar Guard.

  The room was sober, in the image of the Stoneskins, except for their love of gold. Only aged maps extended on an imposing wooden table, their tracings sketching the arid paths of Istalith, yellowed and cracked by time. At its center rested the Gauntlets of Solar?s—two gauntlets of diamant?te, so gigantic and so heavy that no man could lift them.

  Ardahm stood near the bay window from which the Northeast to Southeast zones of Solheim revealed themselves in a striking panorama, back turned. Even taller than Juuh'ma, his clan brother, he embodied a brute force that seemed to defy the very laws of nature. Undisputed chief of the three armed factions of Solheim, he also reigned over the N'zonki clan. His ebony skin was engraved with ritual marks—deep golden furrows, carved like rivers in ancient earth. He wore no armor, only loose pants in light beige fabric evoking desert sands, held by a wide white and gold belt adorned with the symbol of Solar?s, and high boots in white leather reinforced with golden plates rising to the knees. His close-cropped hair, of a brilliant ashen white, glittered like a crown of frost on a volcano.

  Without turning around, his heavy voice resonated in the room with power.

  "How are you doing, little one?"

  Juuh'ma inclined his head slightly, although Ardahm couldn't see him.

  "Well, master. I do my best to honor you," the Shield murmured in a grave tone demonstrating all the respect he had toward his clan chief.

  With a deliberate movement that evoked a titan emerging from the mists, Ardahm pivoted. His gaze swept over the squadron with an intensity that nailed souls to the ground before returning to the central table to go sit heavily in the massive armchair that creaked under his weight. Even seated, his stature defied all logic. Siegfried, R?chard and Mei, though standing before him, still had to raise their eyes to meet his gaze.

  He placed his forearms on the table, his massive hands framing the map of Istalith and his gaze swept over the squadron to ensure they understood the gravity of the situation.

  "Two ore convoys in four weeks have disappeared between Fort-Shadow and Forgecendre. The last convoy counted five carts, about twenty men including six armed. Vanished six days ago. No traces of attack. No bodies. No debris. Nothing. We've already sent a squadron of the Golden Lances to investigate but we've heard nothing from them."

  His fist struck the table so violently that the Gauntlets wavered.

  "You and your knights will go to Fort-Shadow. You will discover what is making our convoys disappear. You will identify who is behind it. And if you can, you will find the lost squadron."

  The Vaan Hart advanced one step, his green irises fixed on his superior.

  "With all due respect, my Captain, may I ask why us? We are knights of the Solar Guard. We have never left these walls. Why not send more Golden Lances?"

  "The reason is simple, Knight Vaan Hart. Elite and experienced warriors have already left. If the strength that is theirs couldn't bring them back, it means what prowls out there requires something else. I need eyes that see what is hidden, shadows that track, and a mind that analyzes and thinks before striking. Di Fiorenze assured me you were that and I trust his judgment. He swore on his honor that you would be capable of discovering what was being plotted out there despite your inexperience with the outside because according to his words, you were the best at hunting what needed to be hunted. And that's exactly what we need for this mission."

  He leaned slightly forward, his aura and voice becoming darker and more menacing.

  "Is that enough reasons for you to obey, knight, or must I remind you who gives the orders in Solheim?"

  "No, my Captain," Siegfried assured, fist on solar plexus.

  "Good. I prefer that. Please don't interrupt me again and listen carefully."

  He seized one of the Gauntlets to place it at the extremity of the map, flattening it, in order to tap on it with his index finger on the mining city and he continued his briefing.

  "You are not unaware that Fort-Shadow is the heart of our economy. Everything that comes out of its belly ends up either arming the capital or in trade with Emporium. However, its populace doesn't appreciate us much. They see us as thieves who take their wealth for a little food. Pay no heed to hostile looks. Stay professional. Another thing that might be useful to you. This city is infested with black dust from the mine so equip yourselves accordingly."

  His elbows settled on the table and as he scrutinized squadron VIII, he interlaced his enormous fingers.

  "I won't lie to you, these are all the information we hold concerning this mission. We don't know who is striking us, how they are striking us, and if this is linked to recent discoveries concerning the Eclipse. It will be up to you to answer all these questions. Solheim being unable to afford more losses, I give you ten days to return with answers. Not one more. If on the eleventh I have no news, I will be obliged to call upon the Three Pillars."

  He inhaled strongly through his nostrils, his face becoming more severe.

  "Don't force me to make that choice, knight."

  "You won't have to, my Captain!" Siegfried affirmed with conviction, his squadron as convinced as he was.

  While he simply nodded, the Stoneskin pulled from his drawer a letter that he placed on his desk and slid gently toward the knight.

  "Once there, go see Intendant Graven and give him this. This old man will know how to answer all your questions and provide you with everything you'll need for your investigation. He knows every gallery, every road, every nook of this region better than anyone. He's an atypical character but you can trust him."

  The captain's right arm rose and he soberly lifted twice his index and middle finger—sign that the orders were given.

  "You will leave as soon as you're ready. A carriage awaits you at the armory exit. You can take there everything you'll need. If you want more details on how to survive outside, you'll only have to ask Yo?chin. He's an old friend and I've informed him of your inexperience with the outside. Having been a Golden Lance of S rank in his time, he will inform you more than I can. Listen well to every word he utters. It could save your life. Three days of travel, maybe four. Don't disappoint me. May Solar?s see you."

  Siegfried saluted with a sharp sign, his green eyes sparkling with cold resolution.

  "We won't disappoint you, Captain. May Solar?s see you."

  One by one, his warriors imitated him, placing their fist on their solar plexus before turning around, the sound of their boots clapping on the marble in a determined rhythm. The massive door closed behind them with a dull slam as they descended the stairs to join the armory.