High above the ivory sea of clouds of Saturn, where the air is nothing but silence and ice, the Castle of the Heavens floated, an immaculate fortress, guardian of the world.
Tiger stood motionless facing the horizon.
Behind him, Jaden, hair hiding his dark eyes, waited before the single gate. A respectful nod, and Tiger entered the sanctuary.
The chamber was unreal, defying the laws of physics. Embedded in the left wall, a titanic hourglass counted down time under a pale glow. The grains of sand did not fall; they floated.
The inscription shone, implacable: 2 months, 1 week.
For the first time in centuries, Tiger's mask of impassivity cracked.
He raised his hand and tore through reality. A black chasm opened in the wall. He plunged into it, followed by Jaden's faithful shadow.
On the other side, the darkness gave way to a marvel: a blazing sky, half-orange, half-violet, illuminating a plain of floating rocks and wildflowers.
Tiger shoved his hands into his pockets, his blond hair dancing in this wind from another world.
"Jaden," he murmured.
"What is it?" the other replied, sensing the gravity of the moment.
"I will see them soon. My little brother. My little sister."
"The Travelers?!" Jaden marveled.
"Yes. They will come here. It is written."
A solitary, heavy tear rolled down Tiger's cheek to crash against the rock.
Jaden froze. The one the universe feared by the name of Tiger... was crying.
Hidden behind a tree trunk, a feminine silhouette dressed in a nun's habit observed the scene, sharing this silent grief.
Far from there, on Europa, the wind whistled a different song.
Brest had seated his four students in a circle on a carpet of moss. The atmosphere was heavy, solemn.
"Today," said the old man with a voice that cut like a razor, "you stop thinking."
He struck the ground.
"You are no longer your bodies. You are no longer your emotions. Thought is a parasite. It is too slow. To survive what is coming, you must become Pure Instinct."
The four heroes closed their eyes. Inhale. Exhale. Clear the mind.
It was no longer like "sensing" the aura. It was erasing oneself to become part of the forest.
Suddenly, Brest moved. Not a movement, a disappearance.
With a fluid gesture, he propelled four stones at a deadly speed.
Rhea did not "decide" to move. Her body did it for her. She leaned back, defying gravity, the stone whistling where her forehead had been a millisecond earlier. She felt Garma, no longer as a voice, but as a second nervous system.
Yabal didn't have time to be afraid. He leaped sideways, sliding on a root as if it had been placed there just for him. His inner fire was not a rage, but a cold and precise engine.
Leopold, the scholar, stopped analyzing. He rolled on the moss, fluid, guided by the tiny vibrations of the ground warning him of danger before the stone even left the master's hand.
And Angel...
Angel, eyes closed, barely moved. He simply took a sidestep, minimal, light as a feather. The stone grazed his nose. He seemed to dance with the wind.
"Again!" Brest roared.
Branches, pebbles, gusts of wind, roots bursting from the ground. The old man became a storm.
But in the center of the storm, the four remained untouchable.
"Instinct is not thought!" barked Brest, throwing a log at Yabal's head, who avoided it with a disconcerting tilt of his neck. "It is lived!"
The session lasted for hours. Or perhaps minutes. Time no longer mattered.
When Brest finally stopped, the sun was setting, painting the forest red.
The four heroes reopened their eyes. They were not sweating. They were not panting. They were absolutely, terrifyingly calm.
A new clarity shone in their gazes.
Rhea and Yabal had merged with Fire. Leopold was Earth and Lightning. And Angel... Angel had become Air.
"You are ready," Brest declared, planting his cane.
He looked toward the East, his face hardening.
"Keep this serenity. For chaos is coming. And it wears a uniform."
Far away, very far away, a mechanical humming approached. But this time, none of them trembled. They were waiting.