The royal palace of Kragmar stood imposingly at the southern border of the Capital, in an elevated position, with its light stone towers dominating the night horizon.
Inside, in the private hall of the sovereign, King Arthur stood facing the balcony, his gaze lost in the city.
The flickering lights of the houses stretched out like a carpet of earthly stars, and in the distance, beyond the expanse of rooftops, the sea could be seen, a dark line beneath a sky dotted with stars.
The cool late-night wind tousled his black hair, but his face remained impassive, carved like the statues of his ancestors that adorned the corridors of the palace.
Knock-Knock!
Two firm knocks echoed against the solid wooden door behind him.
Arthur did not turn, merely inclining his head slightly, as if already knowing who it was by the energy that accompanied the knock.
"Come in…" the sovereign said.
The door creaked open, and Grand Knight Leonard entered the room.
His black and red military uniform was impeccable as always, and the golden medals on his chest jingled slightly with each step.
His gait was heavy, laden with a tension that he could not hide.
"Your Majesty," Leonard began formally, bowing slightly as he stopped a few steps away from the balcony. "I wanted to inform you that the preparations are complete. The ship is ready to set sail tomorrow for the Sacred Region. According to Admiral Skrikser, with the wind in our favor, we should arrive just in time for this year's World Conference."
"Good," replied King Arthur, simply and concisely, his voice deep and calm.
A heavy silence fell between the two, broken only by the soft rustling of the curtains moved by the breeze coming in from the balcony.
"Moreover…" Leonard began again, hesitating for a moment. "The expeditionary forces have just returned, but… they bring no good news…"
King Arthur remained silent for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back.
Then, with a slow gesture, he turned slightly, casting a glance at the young knight.
"Speak, Leonard," he said, his voice calm but sharp like a blade.
Leonard took a deep breath, almost as if preparing himself for what he was about to say.
"We still haven't found any trace of Prince Mirac. Our patrols have scoured the streets of the Capital, the nearby villages, even the cities on the north-western border with Fonteya. But nothing: even today, no one has found a clue about where he might have gone. It's as if he vanished into thin air."
A shadow of worry crossed the face of the Grand Knight, but King Arthur seemed unfazed by the concern.
He turned back to stare at the horizon, his lips twisted into an expression that could have been either a smile or a grimace.
"But don't worry, Your Majesty. We won't give up easily!" Leonard added, trying to reassure him. "We will continue searching every corner of the kingdom. Tomorrow, we will send patrols to the west and south, and I'm sure we will manage to find him and-"
"No," King Arthur interrupted him, his voice low but as hard as the stone of the—an echo that bounced off the walls of the room like a hammer strike on an anvil. "End the search…"
Leonard furrowed his brow, his young face illuminated by the flickering light of the candles dancing in the drafts of the room.
Confusion creased his features, a shadow passing through his light-colored eyes.
"I'm sorry, what?!" exclaimed Leonard, the word escaping him almost like a breath, uncertain, hanging in the thick, tense air.
"You heard me right," the sovereign replied, his tone flat but sharp. "I said to end the search."
Leonard took a step forward, the metallic clink of his sword in its scabbard echoing faintly in the silence of the night.
"I-I don't understand, Majesty…" he stammered, his voice cracking with a mix of disbelief and apprehension. "Why?!"
His gaze, still burning with the vitality of youth, sought that of the king, trying to catch a hint of emotion behind the mask of impassivity.
At that question, Arthur turned completely, abandoning the balcony to face the knight.
His green eyes, cold as the polished marble of the floor, met Leonard's blue ones.
"I have no intention of wasting precious time and resources chasing an ungrateful traitor," he said, his voice laced with bitterness that made Leonard start. "A son who abandons his throne, his family, his people, his duty, his destiny, without warning or offering an explanation—an explanation that has neither legitimacy nor honor—is not a son. He is not an heir. He is merely a stranger who mistakenly carries my own blood."
Leonard stood still for a few seconds, the king's words weighing in the air like an irrevocable verdict.
Although he had served Arthur for only a few years—a short time compared to the long dedication of his Master—Leonard had already learned to recognize the king's resolve, an inflexibility that had become legendary in the Kingdom of Ardorya.
He was not a man who could be bent, neither by pain nor by pleas.
And indeed, in his voice, there was neither anger nor sorrow: only a cold acceptance.
"And if he returns?" the knight ventured cautiously.
King Arthur turned back towards the balcony, his silhouette carved against the starry sky framing the city.
The night breeze brushed his cloak, making it sway like a living shadow.
"He'd better not," the King murmured, his voice reduced to a whisper that blended with the wind. "I don't want to be forced to stain my hands with blood…"
Those words, spoken with an unsettling calm, quickly dissolved into the air, like mist touched by the first rays of the sun.
Caught off guard by the king's ruthless response, the Grand Knight could not help but flinch, a slight tremor passing through his shoulders.
He opened his mouth to reply but immediately closed it, holding his breath.
There was nothing to add: the weight of that verdict had rendered him mute.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze in a gesture of respect, nodding with a deliberation that revealed his inner turmoil.
"I-I understand…" Leonard stammered, his voice uncertain as he tried to regain his composure. "In that case, I will immediately inform all the patrols regarding your decision, Your Majesty…"
His words came quickly, almost as if trying to fill the heavy silence that had fallen between them.
With a respectful bow, Leonard turned and left the room, the sound of his footsteps fading down the corridor.
Still standing on the balcony, King Arthur remained alone, the wind whispering promises of an uncertain future, while the stars painted the night sky of the Capital.
* * *
It was deep into the night.
The sky above the forest was a black cloak dotted with distant stars.
Mirac and Carmen moved silently, their footsteps muffled by the carpet of dry leaves and damp moss.
The sharp cold of the night crept beneath their cloaks, and occasionally, a low branch brushed their faces, forcing them to duck.
After an hour of walking, with the castle now a distant memory behind them, Carmen stopped.
She looked around, scanning the darkness between the trees, then nodded to herself.
"This will do," she said, setting her backpack down on the ground. "We've gone far enough. We can camp here."
Without wasting any time, Carmen got to work.
She chose a sheltered spot: a small dip between two large oak roots, hidden from the wind and view.
She took out her dagger and began to dig a shallow hole in the soft ground, slightly widening the base and placing some stones around the edges.
"Better keep the fire low," she murmured, more to herself than to Mirac.
The latter, watching her closely, immediately understood her intentions.
Despite the weight of fatigue pressing on him, he decided to help her, heading towards a fallen trunk not far from where they were.
The hours spent studying survival techniques hadn't been in vain: he knew exactly what to look for.
He gathered dry, hard wood—oak and beech, perfect for burning slowly without creating too much smoke—carefully avoiding wet or resinous branches that could reveal their position to potential enemies nearby.
He broke the larger pieces with a trembling but precise hand, stacking a small pile which he handed to Carmen when he returned to her side.
She looked up, surprised for a moment, then nodded with a half-smile and a hint of approval.
"Thank you," Carmen said simply, her voice low but filled with sincere gratitude.
With a flint and steel, the red-haired woman sparked a flame onto a pile of dry moss that Mirac had ripped from a nearby rock, slowly feeding it with the branches he had chosen.
Soon, a bed of glowing embers formed, which Carmen covered with a thin layer of ash, leaving only a gentle warmth that spread without lighting up the forest.
"Perfect," said Carmen, observing the result with a satisfied nod: a hidden fire, strong enough to warm them and keep any lurking animals away, yet faint enough to remain invisible to distant eyes.
The faint glow of the embers danced just beneath the ash, a silent comfort in the night.
As Carmen ensured the fire remained under control, Mirac got to work with care, gathering dry leaves and soft branches.
With slow but precise movements, he wove everything together to form two separate mounds—one for himself and one for Carmen—usable for both sitting and lying down, a simple shelter against the biting cold of the ground.
Once he was finished, Mirac rubbed his hand on his pants to shake off the dirt and moss, his breath condensing in the cold air as he paused for a second to observe his work.
Afterward, he let himself fall onto the bed of leaves, his legs slightly trembling from exhaustion.
Meanwhile, Carmen rose fluidly, took her backpack, and sat on the pile of leaves Mirac had prepared.
The hooded woman began to rummage through her backpack with quick and sure hands, digging through its contents until she pulled out a small sandwich wrapped in a soft white cloth.
Without hesitation, Carmen handed it directly to Mirac, extending her hands with a decisive yet careful gesture.
"It's not much, I know, but I still hope you like it," she said, her voice imbued with her usual thoughtfulness.
Mirac looked at her for a few seconds, his uncertain eyes lingering on her face, as if weighing the gesture—a mix of distrust and gratitude fighting in his hungry gaze.
But then, slowly, he raised his arm to take the bread, his trembling fingers brushing the rough crust almost with caution, as if afraid it might disappear upon contact.
"Thank you," Mirac murmured, his voice hoarse but sincere, as his fingers gripped the gift like a treasure.
Carmen didn't reply. She simply gave him another half-smile.
Mirac lingered for a moment, observing the piece of bread between his fingers, its cracked crust barely revealing a few leaves of fresh lettuce.
Then, he carefully took the first bite, and a knot tightened in his throat as the simple yet genuine flavor mingled with a surge of restrained emotion.
He hadn't eaten in three days, and that first swallowed bite—not warm, but soft and flavorful, with the honest taste of grain—felt almost unreal, like a dream he feared would vanish upon waking.
He didn't care what was inside: it could be just flour and water, yet to him, it was everything.
His green eyes welled with tears, but he forced them back, chewing with a desperate hunger.
Carmen watched him silently, propped up on an elbow, her chin resting on her hand.
Her gaze was calm, attentive, and she didn't stop giving him that half-smile.
In a few moments, Mirac devoured the sandwich, his voracity sweeping away any trace of restraint, his teeth sinking into the crumb with silent fury, almost desperate.
He wiped his hand on his black cloak, rubbing it against the smooth fabric, his breath still erratic, as though his body was struggling to recover from that sudden abundance after days of emptiness.
Carmen waited in silence until he was done, watching him calmly until the last bite was swallowed.
Then, straightening up with a decisive movement, she said:
"Good. Go to sleep now. Tomorrow we have a long journey ahead."
Mirac looked up, surprised.
"A long journey? To where?" he asked, his voice uncertain, still tinged with the taste of the bread.
It was obvious and natural to assume that their destination was the base of Carmen's secret organization, but Mirac still didn't know where it was located, nor whether it was hidden within the borders of the Kingdom of Ardorya or even outside them.
"I'll explain everything tomorrow morning," Carmen replied, cutting the conversation short with a tone that left no room for argument.
"Alright." Mirac didn't press further.
He moved to lie down on the pile of leaves, but noticed that Carmen remained sitting, still, her gaze lost in the darkness beyond the embers.
"Aren't you going to sleep?" he asked, pausing halfway through the motion.
"No," she said, turning slightly towards him. "Even though we're far from the castle now, for precaution, I'll keep watch."
Mirac furrowed his brow, sitting up slightly, leaning on one arm with a rigid but determined movement, shaking his head in an almost instinctive protest.
"But you also need rest. Otherwise, you won't be able to face whatever awaits us tomorrow," the boy replied. "Why don't we split the watch instead?"
Carmen chuckled softly, a light sound that intertwined with the rustle of the leaves moved by the wind and the faint crackling of the embers in the pit.
"Don't worry," Carmen replied, her tone firm but not without a hint of hidden sweetness. "I slept all day on purpose, just to be ready for your escape and to stand guard tonight. I'm full of energy, believe me. But you, on the other hand, look like you're about to collapse. Of the two of us, you're definitely the one who needs rest the most. So go to sleep now. I'll wake you up when it's time to leave."
Mirac stared at her for a long moment, struck by how she seemed to have anticipated every detail, every step of the escape.
The embers cast a faint glow on her face, briefly lighting up the hard line of her jaw and the eyes that never betrayed uncertainty.
He wondered how much time she had spent planning every detail of all this, while he rotted in that damp cell—prisoner of himself, of his twisted thoughts, of the doubts that devoured him along with hunger.
"Alright, as you prefer," Mirac finally conceded, his voice reduced to a whisper.
Without saying anything more, he lay back on the bed of leaves, wrapping himself in his cloak.
The warmth of the embers brushed his face, and the scent of earth and burnt wood wrapped around him like a blanket.
In a few moments, the rhythm of his breath became slow and steady.
He fell asleep almost immediately, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion, while the forest around him remained silent, watched over by Carmen's attentive eyes.
'Don't worry, Mom,' thought the red-haired woman. 'I'll protect him no matter what…'
* * *
A few minutes after falling asleep, Mirac's mind opened to a very familiar place.
The darkness of sleep dissolved, replaced by a vast and infinite starry sky, pulsating as if alive.
'The starry sky?!' Mirac wondered, his mind suspended in that dream.
He stared at the usual fixed point in front of him, unable to move his head or shift his gaze, as if his body were an immaterial anchor in that sea of light.
'Why did I get dragged here?'
He didn't have time to search for answers.
At the center of the celestial vault, right where his eyes were fixed, a message appeared, traced in pure light, flickering like white flames:
[ By manipulating reality with zero, you have grasped the ultimate essence of its nature… ]
Mirac stirred in his sleep, a shiver rippling across his brows.
'Huh?! What is it talking about?!' he wondered, his inner voice faint and confused, as if the words were slipping out of his grasp.
The letters of light dissolved and reformed, creating a new message, sharper, clearly etched in the heavens:
[ Zero is the bridge that stands between positive and negative numbers. And today, for the first time, you have made use of that bridge… ]
'Wait a minute!' he exclaimed inwardly.
At that moment, an image flashed in his mind: the door of his cell, the instinctive act of multiplying it by zero to open a path of escape.
'Is it referring to that?'
As he pondered this possibility, the floating white words moved once more, swirling in a vortex of light.
Before he could grasp their meaning, the messages came in rapid succession, one after the other, like an unstoppable river flowing through the sky:
[ Congratulations! ]
[ You have conquered the final piece to access the full understanding of the Set of Numbers ]
[ Congratulations! ]
[ You have now completed your understanding of: Natural Numbers ( ℕ ) ]
[ Natural Numbers: They constitute the set of non-negative integers, chosen tools for enumerating and ordering {0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, …} ]
[ Congratulations! ]
[ You have now completed your understanding of: Integers ( ℤ ) ]
[ Integers: They constitute the set formed by natural numbers, their opposites (negative numbers), and zero {…, -9, -8, -7, -6, -5, -4, -3, -2, -1, 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, …} ]
[ Math is truly proud of you! ]
[ Math wants to reward you with a special gift… ]
[ Congratulations! ]
[ You have gained access to the Realm of Numbers! ]
[ However, your current low Degree of Syntony with Math prevents you from entering with your physical form ]
[ Therefore, you will be granted access as a spectator through the shared vision of a resident ]
[ WARNING: By accessing as a spectator, you will be nothing more than an inert observer, unable to move or alter the course of events, bound to mere contemplation without action ]
[ Do you still wish to enter the Realm of Numbers? ]