Nestled in the basement of the Index of Solar?s, the armory extended over a colossal surface, a veritable cavern of war carved in rock and reinforced with massive pillars. The vaulted ceiling rose nearly ten meters, pierced with wide light shafts where mirrors arranged in cascade reflected the Sun's rays, bathing the space in a warm and golden clarity. The air vibrated with stifling heat mixed with the acrid smell of heated metal, rancid grease and tanned leather.

  Everywhere, activity swarmed. Artisans in thick leather aprons hammered blades on anvils, their blows resonating in a deafening rhythm. Forges glowed at the back of the room, spitting sparks that danced in the air before extinguishing on the stone slabs. Apprentices ran from one workbench to another, carrying armor pieces, bundles of arrows, barrels of water to cool the burning steel.

  Along the walls, endless racks exhibited hundreds of weapons—swords, lances, maces, axes, bows, crossbows—all carefully aligned, their blades gleaming under the light. Shelves overflowed with shields bearing various blazons, polished helms, mail gauntlets. Crates of military provisions piled up in alcoves: dried meat, hard bread, water flasks, rolled blankets, ropes, torches.

  At the center of the armory, several massive stone counters served as distribution posts. Soldiers from different squadrons pressed around them, placing orders, recovering repairs, signing registers. A group of Golden Lances discussed with a blacksmith about a dented armor. Further away, members of the Solar Guard inspected a batch of freshly forged lances.

  An alcove at the back opened onto a staircase leading to a paved street of the Upper City, connecting this military den to the outside world. The Sun's rays plunged directly there, illuminating the staircase with harsh light.

  The knight advanced and approached softly a stocky man with gnarled hands, his tunic stained with soot, sitting on a stool behind a workbench isolated from the tumult. He was busy polishing a magnificent katana with a black blade of exceptionally long length, his attention so concentrated that he seemed deaf to the ambient din.

  "Good day, armorer. We must speak to a certain Yo?chin, Captain's orders."

  "Go behind, knight, in the reserve. That's where you'll find him if it's him you're looking for. No need to knock," the armorer replied without even raising his eyes, still busy on his katana, an extreme concentration emanating from him.

  Without a word, Siegfried nodded and the squadron headed toward a massive reinforced wooden door at the back of the armory. He pushed it and it opened in a dull creak. A beam of light entered, ricocheting on several mirrors hung on the walls, illuminating the entire room in an instant.

  There, he saw an old man, sitting behind a large black stone workbench on a chair sleeping, arms crossed, head hanging with mouth open. On the back wall, there were about twenty weapons that seemed to be of exceptional manufacture, hung between small mirrors that caught the light.

  "Sir?" said Siegfried in a low voice but the old man didn't wake up so he continued, louder. "Mr. Yo?chin."

  "Huuuuuuuuuu... yes, yes," the old man mumbled, raising his head.

  He blinked two or three times and yawned while stretching his arms to cross them behind his neck.

  "Did I doze off for long?"

  "I couldn't tell you. We just entered."

  "You must surely be those leaving to investigate the disappearances at Fort-Shadow, is that it?"

  He had a simple nod as a response.

  "Then please come in. If you're here and if I understood correctly what that other thick brute without emotions asked me, you need some advice because this will be your first mission outside, am I right?"

  Hidden behind Juuh'ma, R?chard discreetly tapped the specter's arm with his elbow and whispered.

  "Did you hear how he called the Captain?"

  Seeing that the squadron didn't know how to respond to the words he had just spoken, surely due to their total incomprehension of seeing an old man speak thus of the army captain, he decided to continue.

  "Forget everything you were taught at the Academy. Throughout my entire career as a sentinel of the Golden Lances, only three rules allowed me to survive outside. The first and most important rule, if you don't want to die, always, I mean always protect yourself from the Sun and conserve as much of your water as possible, even if you have several flasks, we can't predict what will happen once outside, you can believe my long experience. Second rule, always stay near the paths and roads that the ancients left us, even if you'll think that cutting through one place or another will save you time, maybe it could be the case but most of the time, it will lead you to certain death. And this also applies to camps. Third and last rule, never forget the first two, really, young knights. I insist, never forget them if you want to survive this hell."

  "And why is that, old man?" R?chard questioned, listening attentively.

  "A little respect, my young friend," the colossus standing beside him corrected him. "This man has our Captain's respect, so think about doing the same."

  The boy, lowering his head as a sign of pardon, apologized.

  "I ask your forgiveness, sir."

  "Hahahahahaha, the little one isn't wrong you know, I'm not so young anymore," he laughed before getting up and approaching the young archer, a sound of metal being heard as he advanced. "I have no better example than my leg to prove to you why rules are so important."

  Mouth wide open, R?chard observed the old man from top to bottom. It wasn't so much the black metal prosthesis that shocked him, but his build, his height, his musculature. Sitting, he looked like a slumped old man, but standing, nothing suggested he was from a generation about to die out.

  So, too curious as was his habit, young Desrosiers asked.

  "I can't believe my eyes, a proto-leg? But how is this possible? Explain to me, I want to know."

  "Whoa! Whoa! Easy my little one, it's been a long time since I had your vigor," he replied with a wide smile, happy to see someone wanting to know one of his stories. "It happened shortly after I left the Academy, during a simple routine mission. We had gone to Castel on Earth to transfer heretics to the capital's dungeons but on the way back, one of our prisoners escaped us. Alas, disobeying my chief's orders and thinking I was doing well, I pursued him."

  He raised two fingers toward the squadron.

  "Rule number 2, never leave the ancients' roads. Wanting to catch him, I stupidly fell face to face with a scardarion that managed to sting my ankle. Fortunately my chief had followed me otherwise I wouldn't be here to tell you about it."

  His left hand slowly passed over his leg, as if the pain was still present.

  "They had to section it so the venom wouldn't rise to the heart. Nothing very glorious."

  "And for the proto-leg?"

  "Aaaaaaah that?" said Yo?chin, lifting his leg with suppleness despite his age to place it on the table with a crash.

  The young archer approached and admired the artifact, a masterpiece of craftsmanship where black iron, bolts, gears, screws, tendons, intertwined.

  "It's marvelous, isn't it? In my misfortune, I had the luck to have in my squadron one of the last proto-artisan masters but alas his knowledge went away with him, all his apprentices cut down before him, as if Solar?s had decided so."

  Leaning against the door frame, face hidden by her mask and hood, the Noohrikane spoke.

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  "So your advice only amounts to that, with all due respect, sir? Only two rules? No antidote? No means to find water if we came to run out? No beasts we should avoid? None of that?"

  "Hahaha, but of course, how could I forget?!" he resumed, chuckling.

  He removed his foot from the table to head toward a cupboard from which he pulled a leather pouch that he gently placed on the workbench.

  "Please excuse my memory young Noohrikane, you know, at my age, we don't have all our wits. But I still have my eyes to recognize a killer in the shadows when I cross one. I prepared you a bag containing all the antidotes necessary for your journey if you had the misfortune to fall upon a serpent?s or other small venomous beasts."

  From this bag, he pulled a curved and hollow blade.

  "As well as a water knife," he continued. "It's not very complicated to use. We simply enter the blade at the base of the fig caktus. Only on fig caktuses, never the others, otherwise you risk emptying yourself, if you see what I mean. Once the blade is entered, you let your flask fill up."

  Siegfried recovered the pouch to put it in his bag.

  "And how do we recognize fig caktuses from others?"

  "So wait..."

  The old man paused, visibly searching in his memory, then raised his finger.

  "They're the ones with flowers and tiny spines grouped at the top."

  "And for monsters?" Juuh'ma questioned.

  "As for monsters, you won't find anything terrifying enough to bar your way to Fort-Shadow. But be careful anyway."

  "Nothing else?"

  "No, nothing more comes to mind, Stoneskin," he replied then slowly approached the Vaan Hart, his metal leg clanking on the floor. "May I in turn ask you a question, knight?"

  "Of course, sir."

  "What you have around your waist is indeed an ashwolf skin, isn't it? The grumpy rock with enormous fists nevertheless told me you had never gone outside, was he mistaken?"

  "No, the Captain spoke true. None of us has ever left the capital. This is a gift from my mentor, offered for my entry to the Academy," he replied, holding the skin in his hand with a spark of pride in his gaze.

  "I don't know if I knew your mentor, knight, but know that she must have been an exceptional knight, are you aware of that?"

  Siegfried acquiesced with a brief nod.

  "Even me, while they told me I was S rank, I wouldn't have dared challenge such a beast. It's simply incredible," he said, returning to sit on his chair with a satisfied smile. "But enough wasting time, I have a nap to continue so if you have no other questions, take everything you want and go through the staircase, this one will lead you to the Upper City where a carriage awaits you. Don't forget to close it well when leaving. It was a pleasure, knights."

  Juuh'ma, Mei, R?chard and Siegfried looked at each other with a small corner smile, saluted the old man and left the reserve leaving Yo?chin to return to his nap, the boy making the hinges clap loudly behind him.

  "If you don't end up like the Dawn-Thorn squadron, come see me one of these days," the old man shouted, his voice muffled by the door.

  Mei didn't move, but something in her posture froze—an immobility too perfect, too controlled.

  Back in the armory, the din enveloped them immediately. The hammering of anvils, the crackling of forges, the conversations between soldiers and artisans—military life continued, indifferent to their presence. A group of Golden Lances passed near them, loaded with freshly repaired shields.

  The Vaan Hart pivoted toward his men.

  "As the Captain recommended to us, let's take what we need to make ourselves stealthy and protect ourselves from the Sun—cape, veil, turban, whatever. We'll also need food and water, enough to last ten days, even more."

  "Take also what's needed to set up a camp, knights. It'll never be too much, you can believe me," said the katana armorer, still busy on his work but having heard Siegfried's orders, without even turning around.

  Each dispersed in the armory. R?chard headed toward a rack of arrows, seized several handfuls with gray fletchings to fill his quiver. He hesitated, noticed other quivers on the ground, and after reflection, filled a second one. An apprentice passed near him, carrying a barrel of water, and he had to step aside to let him pass.

  On his side, Juuh'ma approached a counter where an artisan distributed rations. The colossus loaded a maximum of dried meat, hard bread, water flasks. On the other blacksmith's advice, he also recovered a rolled tent with worn seams and several thick blankets, tying them in a bundle that he hoisted on his shoulder.

  Mei stood before a rack of throwing daggers. She took three belts that she methodically attached—one as a bandolier, the two others around her thighs. But then, she didn't move anymore. She remained motionless, eyes fixed on the blades that gleamed under the light.

  Siegfried, after recovering some provisions and checking his equipment, noticed his specter's motionless silhouette. Something wasn't right. She was too frozen, too absent. He approached softly, stopping a few steps from her.

  "Mei?"

  She didn't respond immediately. Then, without turning around, her voice crossed the air, calm but charged with a dull gravity.

  "My sister is part of that squadron."

  Silence fell between them, heavy and weighty, contrasting with the ambient din of the armory. R?chard, who was storing his arrows not far away, heard. Juuh'ma too, adjusting his bundle on his shoulder, his eyes turning toward the Noohrikane.

  "If ever..."

  "I don't need promises, Sieg," she cut him off before he could say anything with fierce determination in her gaze. "I know better than anyone that no one could kill her. So don't worry about me."

  "Are you sure of yourself?"

  "Yes."

  Her voice was cold, determined. Not an ounce of hesitation. Siegfried nodded. That was all he needed to hear.

  "Good!" he acquiesced before signaling the squadron to regroup around a massive table at the center of the armory.

  The young archer opened his mouth, a question visibly burning on his lips, but before he could pronounce a word, the N'zonki's massive hand landed on his shoulder.

  "Not now, my young friend."

  With understanding, R?chard lowered his eyes and the four gathered, the ambient noise continuing around them.

  The knight took a deep breath that made his ribcage swell, then he began, his firm voice dominating the din.

  "This is our first mission outside. However, we will not bend before its valleys or its cursed places, we will not lose ourselves in its silence. We are the blades that pierce the shadow, the eyes that find what hides, the walls that hold when everything collapses. We go to Fort-Shadow to break this mystery and bring answers back to Solheim, to prove that nothing—neither dust, nor void, nor enemy—could stop us. We are much more than simple knights: we are the will of the God of Suns incarnate, and those who doubt it will learn to fear us. Forward my brothers and my sister in arms. May Solar?s see us!"

  "MAY SOLAR?S SEE US!" the rest of the squadron repeated in one and the same voice, their cries resonating in the armory, briefly attracting the attention of some soldiers and artisans who nodded with respect.

  The katana armorer briefly raised his eyes from his work, a smile of pride crossing his face, before returning to his work.

  The squadron headed toward the staircase leading to the Upper City, their heavy and determined steps resonating on the stone slabs. The Sun's light awaited them above, harsh and implacable.

  While they climbed the steps, Siegfried tapped the back of the young boy who was just in front of him.

  "We'll need Feather for this mission. Go get her and join us at the East gates. You must hurry because time won't wait for us."

  The archer acquiesced. As soon as he exited, he leapt onto a building adjacent to the armory, his hands gripping the rough stones of the tower. With agility, he climbed, his hair floating in the dry wind as he progressed toward the Hanging Gardens to find his best friend, a goldenbeak with pearl-gray plumage.

  There, a carriage awaited them: a reinforced wooden crate, its planks marked with blows, pulled by two immense Zu'hun. Their stocky and powerful bodies were covered with dark and ivory stripes, drawn like natural scars on dense flesh. Short curved horns jutted from their broad foreheads, while a black and bristling mane flowed along their thick necks. Around their robust limbs, long tufts of dark hair enveloped the joints and fell to the wide hooves, made to bite the burning stone.

  The three knights stowed their belongings at the back of the vehicle and greeted the coachman before settling inside, the Noohrikane taking a place near a window, her eyes scrutinizing the outside.

  The coachman cracked the reins, and the Zu'hun rumbled dully, their hooves striking the pavement in a heavy and regular rhythm. The vehicle set off, crossing the streets of the Upper City to descend toward the Outskirts, the smooth pavement giving way to cracked slabs, the imposing walls crumbling into worn facades.

  Before the East gates, the carriage stopped. There, two light steel doors about twenty meters high, engraved with runes erased by centuries, still closed, stood like a silent barrier between Solheim and the unknown. Siegfried tapped on the coachman's window, a dry man with gnarled hands, who turned around.

  "Please wait. The last of my men shouldn't be long in arriving."

  "Understood, knight," he replied soberly.

  But barely had he finished his sentence when a light shock made the carriage roof's planks vibrate. From the top of a house, R?chard had jumped to land with agility, Feather landing on his leather-reinforced shoulder piece, her pearl-gray wings glittering under the harsh light. He grabbed a ledge and, with a corner smile on his lips, leaned over.

  "Sieg, shall I ask the sentinels to open these gates, or do we stay here to cook under the zenith?"

  "Do it. We've waited enough."

  The young archer straightened and launched a quick sign to the sentinels posted atop the ramparts. While the guards seized the robust chains, he slipped with ease through an open window of the carriage, his boots clapping lightly on the interior floor, jostling the N'zonki, who grunted. The hinges screamed in a metallic cry, and the doors slowly parted, letting in a breath so burning that it forced the coachman to protect his face and made the air before them shiver.

  The world revealed itself: a sea of cracked earth undulating under a white sky, landscape frozen for centuries, a pitiless brilliance weighing on the horizon.