Adlet and Niccolo had spent nearly every waking moment together over the past several days.

  True to his word, Adlet had shared the details of his first encounter with the beetle—carefully. Certain elements were altered, others left deliberately vague. Each omission carried a faint sting of guilt, but he endured it. The truth was not his to give. And in Niccolo’s hands, he had no doubt it would become something dangerous if mishandled.

  In return, Niccolo was relentless.

  He recorded everything. Every fluctuation in Adlet’s Aura. Every physical response. Every anomaly, no matter how minor. Thick leather-bound registers filled quickly beneath his meticulous hand, Adlet reduced—willingly—to measurements, notes, and cross-references. A living entry in a growing catalogue.

  Yet Niccolo delivered on his promise.

  No matter the question Adlet asked, an answer followed. Precise. Structured. Exhaustively detailed. From the smallest territorial insects to the most dangerous Apexes of the Dryad Forest, Niccolo spoke with a confidence that bordered on reverence. Habitats. Ranks. Behavioral patterns. Preferred prey. Known mutations.

  The depth of his knowledge was staggering.

  Adlet found himself listening long past the point of exhaustion, mind buzzing even as his body begged for rest.

  Nearby, Florian maintained a careful distance.

  He occupied a table of his own, book open, posture studiously composed. To anyone watching, he was absorbed in his reading. To Adlet, it was obvious. Florian listened to every word, pride preventing him from joining outright, curiosity refusing to let him leave. His eyes never quite left the page—but his attention was elsewhere.

  By the end of ten days, both boys carried the same mental map of the region.

  They knew the dominant species. The Apex ranks. Hunting methods. Warning signs. Enough to survive in the field, Niccolo assured them. Not enough to be careless—but enough to make informed decisions.

  For Niccolo, however, “enough” was never satisfying.

  “…And now,” he said, pacing slowly behind his desk, “you should understand this—each increase in Aura rank raises the difficulty of the next evolution exponentially.”

  He tapped the table once, emphasizing the point.

  “The energy required grows. The risks multiply. This applies to Apexes—and to Protectors as well. Every step forward demands more than the last.”

  Adlet leaned in despite himself.

  “Now imagine this,” Niccolo continued, eyes gleaming. “A new high-rank species emerging for the first time. One individual. Alone.”

  Adlet frowned, thinking. “Logically… it would need to produce others of its kind to survive. Otherwise, it would disappear.”

  “Exactly.” Niccolo nodded. “But here’s the key—before a species appears, it already exists within its predecessors. Latent. Potential. That’s why each region has a limited number of Apexes from the same evolutionary line.”

  He lowered his voice slightly.

  “But what happens if an Apex evolves—and never finds a mate?”

  Adlet’s thoughts jumped to his first days at the Academy. To the murmurs. The label.

  Ephemeral species.

  “The species dies with that individual,” he said slowly. “Unless others evolve into the same form.”

  “Partially correct,” Niccolo replied. “If the individual dies early, yes. But Apexes are adaptable beyond ordinary limits. At certain evolutionary thresholds, reproduction no longer requires a partner.”

  Adlet’s breath caught. “You mean… independently?”

  Niccolo smiled, delighted. “Exactly. An Apex capable of producing offspring alone.”

  “That’s…” Adlet searched for the word. “It’s like rewriting natural law.”

  Niccolo’s eyes shone. “And that brings us to the most important point—for humanity.”

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  Adlet straightened. “Which is?”

  “Reproduction rate,” Niccolo said simply. “Higher-ranked species reproduce more slowly. They must. Otherwise, their numbers would become uncontrollable.”

  Understanding settled heavily in Adlet’s chest. “Like the Rank 4 lumber ants.”

  “Precisely. If they reproduced at the same rate as their ancestors, humanity could not withstand them.”

  Adlet nodded. “So their power is balanced by scarcity.”

  “By necessity,” Niccolo corrected gently. “Nature compensates.”

  Silence lingered for a moment as the implications sank in.

  “We’re lucky,” Adlet said at last. “That their numbers stay low.”

  Niccolo chuckled softly. “Lucky indeed.”

  He glanced toward Florian.

  “And on that note,” he added, “I believe you two are overdue for a meal.”

  As if on cue, Florian’s stomach growled—loudly.

  Adlet smiled despite himself.

  The two-week preparation period imposed by Baryon came to an end almost without warning.

  After days spent buried in books, discussions, and careful observation, Adlet felt an odd sense of suspension—as if time itself had been holding its breath, waiting for the moment they would finally be sent forward. Everything they could learn here, they had learned. The rest would come only through experience.

  With nothing left to study and nowhere else to go, Adlet and Florian made their way back to the library one last time.

  Not for knowledge.

  For closure.

  Niccolo was exactly where they expected him to be, surrounded by open volumes and loose sheets, already half-absent from the present. When he noticed them approaching, surprise flickered briefly across his face—then softened into something warmer.

  “Thank you for everything, Niccolo,” Adlet said.

  “Yes—thank you,” Florian added, a beat later.

  Niccolo waved a hand dismissively, though his smile lingered. “It was no trouble. I merely honored our agreement.”

  Adlet didn’t comment, but the thought returned unbidden: the exchange had never been equal. Carefully shaped truths, partial answers—traded for knowledge that would keep him alive. Useful knowledge. Dangerous knowledge. He wondered how much Niccolo suspected, and how much he chose not to pursue.

  “I’ll bring you more observations the next time I visit the guild,” Adlet said instead.

  Niccolo straightened at that, closing the book in front of him. “I would like that. Unfortunately, my time here is nearly over.” He stood, stretching stiffly. “I’ll be returning to Atlantis soon.”

  “Atlantis?” Adlet echoed.

  Before Niccolo could answer, Florian spoke up, clearly pleased to know something first. “Largest city in the Neraid region. North of the main island.”

  Niccolo nodded approvingly. “Exactly. If you ever pass through, give my name at the Protector guild there.” A pause, then a softer smile. “Perhaps I’ll introduce you to my son as well.”

  Adlet felt something settle in his chest—quiet, steady. “We won’t forget. Take care, Niccolo.”

  They shook his hand, firm and sincere, before turning toward the exit. The library doors closed behind them with a muted finality.

  The library doors closed behind them with a muted echo.

  The smell of dust and ink faded, replaced by stone, air, and distance. Adlet walked a few steps before realizing his shoulders had been tense inside. Out here, the city felt louder somehow—less contained. Florian stretched his arms instinctively, as if shaking off the weight of too many hours spent seated, thinking instead of acting.

  The library doors closed behind them with a muted echo.

  The smell of dust and ink faded, replaced by stone, air, and distance. Adlet walked a few steps before realizing his shoulders had been tense inside. Out here, the city felt louder somehow—less contained. Florian stretched his arms instinctively, as if shaking off the weight of too many hours spent seated, thinking instead of acting.

  The quiet they had known was gone.

  So was the safety.

  They didn’t have to search long.

  Baryon stood near the guild entrance, exactly where authority belonged—upright, immobile, as if the city itself had arranged itself around him. Daven waited at his side, arms crossed, impatience written openly across his face, his confidence sharpened now that the moment he’d been waiting for had finally arrived.

  “I feared you would be late,” Baryon said as they approached. His gaze passed over them with clinical precision, lingering just long enough to weigh what two weeks of preparation had—or hadn’t—produced. “At least you’re on time.”

  “On time, yes,” Daven added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Efficient? We’ll see.”

  Adlet didn’t react. The words slid past him, no longer worth the effort. If Daven wanted proof, he would get it soon enough.

  Florian stepped forward instead, posture straight. “What’s next?”

  Baryon answered without pause. “We depart immediately. The delay has already been longer than necessary.” He turned away at once, clearly expecting obedience rather than discussion. “Follow me.”

  They did.

  As Adlet fell into step behind him, something shifted inside his chest. The streets seemed narrower now, the stone beneath his boots heavier, each footstep echoing with a finality that hadn’t been there before. The city that had once loomed over him—vast, intimidating—began to recede, replaced by the quiet pressure of what lay beyond its walls.

  His pulse quickened.

  Whatever awaited them would not resemble lessons or lectures. There would be no shelves to consult, no margins to reread, no time to hesitate. Only choices. Consequences. And the reality of the world beyond safety.

  This mission would test more than what he had learned.

  It would test who he was becoming.

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