On the same continent, far from the ruins Azriel had just left behind, a beast in human skin raged. She was once known as a woman—Velmira—but now? She was something unrecognizable. Consumed by fury, she tore through her slaves one by one, every scream drowned beneath her own.
"MY FUCKING ARMY! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH ENERGY IT TOOK TO MAKE THAT?! THIS IS ABSURD!"
Neuraleth was typically a quiet continent, but the brokers of secrets still operated beneath the surface. News of Velmira's meltdown spread like wildfire, jumping city by city—carried in whispers, encoded notes, smuggled messages. And with that came unrest.
People, for the first time in generations, questioned the divine.
"Is this what the Graces truly are?"
"You're supposed to protect us… not kill us."
Their voices barely rose before they were silenced—swiftly, brutally. Each continent heard the same chilling phrase, repeated from the mouths of Graces, echoing like doctrine:
"Do not accuse us of the same."
It wasn't just fear that kept people quiet. It was terror—because they knew the truth: if the Graces ever chose to wipe out humanity entirely, they could.
So why haven't they?
No one knew.
Meanwhile, across the battered plains, Azriel and Leirza reached the city of Riome, once thought to be a stronghold. But it was empty.
No sign of resistance. No artificiers capable of repairing the broken whisperspike. Even Leirza, whose crafting affinity aligned with such tasks, admitted defeat.
"I lack the resources," he said. "If I try to replicate it with scraps, it might explode like last time."
Azriel stood at a crossroads—not just on a map, but in purpose. Staying in Neuraleth meant wasting time. This continent, broken and disjointed, was the least developed of all seven. It had little left to offer.
They needed to move forward.
Unfolding a tattered map, Azriel traced his gloved fingers toward a name:
Chronisca.
A land ruled by the Grace of Time—a being notorious for laziness and indifference. But while the Grace was a sloth, his underlings were anything but. Efficient, brilliant, and even rumored to rival Divine Beasts, the people of Chronisca had turned their continent into the second most advanced society in all of Signo—just behind Elarith.
It was their best shot.
Azriel closed the map, tightened the strap on his satchel, and nodded.
"We head to Chronisca."
"Estimated travel time: one week," Leirza said.
Azriel looked out at the horizon—where grief had led him, where hope dared to remain.
"Then let's not waste time."
Morning rose slowly across the horizon, golden light creeping over the hills as Azriel and Leirza walked—and walked—and walked some more. Their journey eastward across the continent was long and mostly silent, but within that silence, Azriel began to observe something strange about his companion.
Leirza, once stiff and machine-like, was starting to change.
He spoke more fluently now, with a grasp of tone and timing that was beginning to sound human. He no longer asked questions about basic emotion—he showed signs of understanding them. He even remembered things Azriel had forgotten, memories locked in the depths of Reflection, pulled from corpses Azriel had once passed by.
But stranger still was his body.
At one point during their march, Azriel had glanced back to find Leirza's arm melting into a viscous, black-green fluid—voidlime, as they came to call it. The substance seemed to flow like a calm river one moment and take the shape of solid steel the next. Limbs, tools, even full constructs could be shaped from it.
"I think I'm made of this," Leirza said flatly, staring at his shifting hand. "It's... void, maybe? I don't really know. My memories only go as far back as the shard room."
That night, they set up a modest camp beneath a stone ridge. The stars above were dim, filtered through the haze of clouds—but there was peace in the quiet crackle of firelight.
"We should really get a mount," Azriel muttered, poking at a half-burnt stick. "Anything native to here that might be tameable?"
Leirza thought for a moment, then lit up—if it could be called that.
"Yes! I remember one from Lucia's memories—a Khaori Bierd!"
"A what?"
"Flightless bird. Can carry five times its weight. Fast. Good stamina."
Azriel raised an eyebrow.
"Do you remember how to catch one?"
Leirza paused, then shrugged.
"Nope."
Azriel sighed and rolled onto his back.
"Great. Looks like I'm diving back into Lucia's memories."
That night, while Leirza kept watch, Azriel entered Reflection once more. He found Lucia's shattered form, cold in her chair. Her corpse was stiff with dried blood, but as Azriel touched the wounds, her memories came—visions like shattered glass.
He sifted through them like pages in a book until he found the Khaori Bierd. Lucia had seen one once during a patrol in the mountains of Neuraleth. She admired its strength, even listed its diet—but there was nothing about how to tame one.
So when morning came, the two made a plan from scratch.
Leirza, with his affinity for crafting, shaped a trap out of his own body—a flexible, snare-like construct they jokingly named the Might Void Bond. It resembled a massive bear trap but could adjust and reinforce itself mid-capture. Together, they consulted the map and climbed toward a mountain ridge where Khaori Bierds were said to roam.
Azriel was shocked by how many there were.
These weren't rare creatures. They hunted in packs, had no natural predators, and were built like tanks. Herds of towering, armored birds roamed the cliffs, their black feathers shimmering with blue-green sheen. Their eyes glowed faintly with elemental energy—wind, it seemed.
They set up traps on opposite ends of a rocky outcrop and waited in silence.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Then—snap.
One of the Void Bonds triggered. Leirza surged forward, tackling a panicked bierd and using his shifting body to restrain it. The creature thrashed and screamed, but after a tense few minutes, it collapsed from exhaustion. Submission through force.
Azriel, still watching from his side, hadn't caught anything yet. He was about to climb down from a tree when he spotted something huge—much bigger than the others.
It was the Alpha.
The beast stared up at him with intelligent, predatory eyes. Its feathers shimmered silver. Wind coiled around its body like a second skin.
"Uh oh."
Azriel didn't think. He leapt from the tree and landed hard, just as the Alpha reared back. With a scream, it released a violent gust of wind—one strong enough to flatten nearby brush. Azriel raised his sword to block it, instinctively bracing for impact.
But the wind froze.
A sheet of ice spread outward in midair like a crystalline wall, and for a brief second Azriel just stared.
Did I just... use magic?
He didn't have time to wonder. The Alpha shattered the trap beneath it with one brutal stomp and charged. Azriel ducked, rolled, and tried to avoid his usual reflex—to kill. He couldn't risk it.
Instead, he kicked at the beast's legs, trying to tire it out like Leirza had. The sword still held faint magic, reacting to his instincts. Each blow slowed the Alpha down, until finally—it fell.
Exhausted. Breathing heavily. Beaten, but alive.
Azriel collapsed beside it, panting.
"We're keeping this one."
Leirza arrived moments later, his own bierd in tow, expressionless as ever—but Azriel could've sworn he looked proud.
"Mine's called Voidy."
Azriel blinked.
"That's... kind of cute."
"I'm developing preferences."
Azriel just laughed, despite the ache in his bones.
The next morning, the sun had barely risen before a low screech echoed through the mountainside.
The Alpha was awake.
It flailed, thrashing wildly against the shimmering voidlime bonds that held its limbs to the ground. Azriel stood nearby, calm but cautious. Unlike Leirza—who had already tamed his bird—this one hadn't submitted yet.
Azriel stepped forward slowly, holding out a hand.
The Alpha screeched again, feathers flaring, but it didn't lash out. Its golden eyes locked onto his, full of fury and confusion.
Azriel gently placed a hand on its head.
"Hey… it's okay."
It flinched, but didn't resist.
He reached into the small pouch Leirza had handed him and took out a handful of berries. But not just any berries—these were rare, blood-red fruits that grew only at the peaks of the mountain cliffs.
The Alpha sniffed the air… then chomped the berries in one swift bite, savoring the taste like a famished pup.
"Thanks for getting these," Azriel muttered.
"It would've taken you an hour to climb that," Leirza replied, folding his arms. "I did it in fifteen seconds."
Azriel smirked.
"Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Leirza."
The Alpha chirped—a much gentler sound now.
Leirza approached and, with a thought, released the voidlime bonds, letting the bird rise fully.
It didn't flee.
Instead, it stood beside Azriel—tall, proud, and obedient.
Azriel stroked its side.
"We're partners now."
By noon, the two birds—Voidy, Leirza's loyal steed, and Azriel's untamed Alpha—stood ready at the cliffside, saddled with makeshift gear crafted from scavenged rope and reinforced cloth.
Azriel looked across the horizon, to the vast stretch of wilderness that awaited them.
"Chronisca.... You better be worth it."
The continent where time doesn't flow properly.
Where the Grace of Time slumbered—or so they claimed.
Leirza climbed atop Voidy with practiced ease.
Azriel looked at his Alpha and smiled.
"Let's ride."