The Nova Sanctum drifted silent through the clouds.
Its shadow fell wide across the land, a moving omen. Villages burned in its wake, wards cracked, rivers steamed. But inside its hull, the air was still.
For days, Lucian's door hadn't opened. The crew moved around it like it was another part of the ship's structure, untouchable. Lucy never knocked. Karl joked about kicking it in, but never did. They all felt the weight behind it—like a storm pressed flat behind glass, waiting.
Then one night, the lock hissed.
The door slid open, smoke-like mana spilling faintly into the corridor. Lucian stepped out.
He looked different.
His skin was marked faint with fresh scars, still raw at the edges, but his stance was steady. His eyes held none of the dull weight from before; they burned steady now, sharp, calm, heavier than before. The air around him bent faint, space rippling in and out, steady like a heartbeat.
A Gamma's presence.
