They kept walking.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the crunch of their boots on damp moss and the wind whispering through the branches. And just when Gael thought he'd see nothing but ruins devoured by vines and time, the scenery began to change.
Subtly at first. A few carved stones poking through a hillock. Then the remnants of a crumbling wall. And soon, around a bend, stone bridges emerged. Massive. Solid. Still standing after all these years.
Farther ahead, motionless silhouettes loomed in the mist, watchtowers. Gael squinted. He spotted the golden gleam of a Lutech beam slowly scanning the surroundings. He shivered. Watchers. Still active.
And the roads, paved. Real paving stones, slick but steadfast, cutting sharply against the mud paths they had been following until now.
On either side, Lumen torches burned steadily, their glow soft and unflinching. They pushed back the shadows, and more importantly, the Infested. Then, finally...
After climbing a hill with gently sloped sides, the city revealed itself.
Gael froze. His breath caught.
Before him stood a city wrapped around a colossal shape, towering, immense, slicing through the mist like a celestial blade. He frowned, narrowed his eyes. 'What the…?'
Then it hit him.
His heart skipped a beat.
"A shard of Excalibur!"
It was a vast crest of metal, jutting from the earth like the horn of some forgotten god. Its backward tilt gave it the look of a slumbering beast. Its surface, bristling with gleaming edges, caught the light and scattered it in blinding bursts. Even the city's tallest towers didn't reach a quarter of its height.
The city seemed choked at its base, crushed beneath the blade's looming shadow.
But that wasn't what made Gael's blood run cold.
No.
It was the gaping maw at the front of the monolith. A chasm.
A pit of darkness so deep that light didn't even touch the upper edges. A void. Pure. Absolute. Terrifying.
Brann stopped beside him. His gaze wandered across the panorama, distant... tired.
"Lameclaire," he said simply. His voice echoed into the silence, broken only by the wind.
Gael swallowed hard, still in shock.
"It's... enormous," he whispered.
"Yeah. And you're only seeing the tip." Brann offered a joyless smile. "Most of it lies underground. Or under the city's foundations, at least. They built around it like insects nibbling on a giant's blade."
Silence.
Brann spoke again, his voice lower now.
"The Luminar Order was driven out of here a long time ago."
Gael turned to him, surprised.
"Why? I thought the Order was present in every major city…"
Brann shrugged, his gaze still locked on the city.
"They tried. For a while. But they weren't welcome. Too rigid. Too bright."
He gestured with his chin toward the torches burning below.
"What you see down there, that's Lutech. Not faith. It's harnessed energy. Cold. Controlled. Useful."
He finally turned toward Gael, his expression hard, his tone heavy, like he was reciting some long-set verdict.
"These days, Lameclaire and its lower city are nothing more than a refuge. A clutter of roofs and alleys huddled around a gaping wound in the earth and an incorruptible shard. A haven for those the world forgot. Or cast out. Smugglers. Shard traffickers. Ex-Watchers. Umbromancers. Shady Lutech engineers. And then… stained mothers. Nameless kids. The forgotten…"
He paused, then added: "Outlaws, sure. But not monsters. Not all of them. No worse, and no better, than those who wrap themselves in sacred banners or codes of honor. Just... standing on the other side of the blade."
His words fell into the silence, carried by the wind.
Gael, brows furrowed, slowly tore his gaze away from the abyss. Something inside him resisted the brutal simplicity of what Brann had just said. But another thought surfaced. Older. Deeper.
He let a silence settle before asking, almost in a whisper:
"That really is... a shard of Excalibur?"
Brann nodded.
"Yeah. But not a shard of the Lumen." He paused, his eyes narrowing against the rain. "It's a shard of the Severance."
The words sank slowly into Gael's mind, like a cold blade slipping between his ribs.
"The… Severance?" he echoed, confusion clouding his gaze. He shook his head, barely. "But... the Severance and the Lumen… don't they come from the same place? Aren't they… from the same source?"
Brann stared at him. His face, chiseled by years of battle, remained unreadable for a moment. Then he narrowed his eyes slightly.
"They really didn't teach you anything at the Academy? Nothing at all?"
Gael lowered his gaze, embarrassed. His voice held a trace of shame.
"I… I'd just arrived. I was about to start the theory lessons when I… left…"
"Your village then? Your parents didn't tell you anything?"
"I'm not from a village." The answer came out too sharp, laced with a hint of pride. "I'm from Kernéval. And we have a stone circle on the northern cliff. Blessed by a shard of Excalibur."
Silence. Then Brann let out a dry laugh. Not mocking. Well… maybe just a little.
"Kid, that's not a shard of Excalibur. It's just a chunk of the moon. Touched, maybe. Blessed? Not really. There's a big difference."
Gael opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. Brann went on:
"Only three true shards of Excalibur ever fell on this old continent. The Academy of the Golden Tree has one. The Hessan Peak, too. Kernéval? Hm… not on the list."
The wind picked up, lashing their faces.
Still stunned, Gael murmured:
"Only three…?"
Brann nodded.
"Since no one's taught you anything…" He ran a hand over his rain-soaked face, brushing away the droplets. "Might as well shed some light."
He crouched, scooped a handful of dirt, and let it trickle slowly through his fingers. Silence. Then his voice returned, deeper, heavier.
"During the Great Shatter… seven shards of the Severance fell. Twelve blessed ones too, brimming with Lumen. And thirteen… masses of darkness. From the Nameless."
Gael's stomach twisted.
"Seven… twelve… thirteen…?"
Brann nodded slowly as he stood back up, eyes fixed on the yawning chasm before them.
"From the seven Severance shards, the Brothers were born. From the twelve of Lumen came the first Guardians, protectors and purifiers. And from the thirteen… came the Calamities."
His gaze drifted toward the vast abyss.
"You mentioned the Monarchs... They're just offspring. Spawned from those Calamities."
The wind was howling now, pierced by deep, rumbling echoes rising from the pit.
And Brann, voice low but firm enough to rise above the storm building around them, said:
"They say... one of them still sleeps at the bottom of this gorge."
Adjusting his pack over his shoulder, he turned back toward the city and added as he walked:
"Maybe it's just a legend." A joyless smile. "Maybe it's not."
Gael stood frozen, heart pounding, eyes locked on the black throat of the earth.
There was no seeing the bottom. And no stopping the chill running up his spine.