The sun began to rise slowly the next day. The darkness of the sky receded, fading like a veil torn apart by the rising glow.
The first rays illuminated the great city of San Martín, and the four districts began to awaken. The wide cobbled streets gradually filled with life: merchants opening their stalls, apprentices hurrying to their workshops, and newly arrived travelers still weary from the night.
In Zone 1, inside a two-story house where the light of dawn filtered gently through the windows, Kael slowly opened his eyes—the night had been quiet. His breathing was steady, his gaze serene. There was no trace of emotion on his face; indifference enveloped him like a second skin.
He sat up calmly, pushed aside the sheets, and walked over to the closet. He opened it, took out a black priest's robe and a silver crucifix. He put them on with precise, unhurried movements and went downstairs to the first floor.
