They found the next battle by accident.
Or maybe it found them.
Hina had stopped trying to measure time. The sky changed in loops — sometimes blue, sometimes sigil-black, sometimes made of shifting letters. The Codex always pulsed a few minutes before it happened: a soft throb through her fingers, like someone knocking from inside reality.
That's how they knew another pair was close.
It happened outside a ruined amphitheater — overgrown, shattered by glyph erosion. Vines crawled over abandoned spell-architecture, pillars bent into loops, and empty spellbooks fluttered like dead leaves caught in a false wind.
The energy here felt… wrong.
Not hostile.
Just ready.
"This arena was used for system training," Veyrun said.
"Simulation spaces. Memory constructs. Not real, but instructive."
Hina looked around. "It feels sad."
"It is."
She followed him through the cracked entrance.
And that's when they saw her.
A girl — maybe twelve — holding a pale-blue spellbook. Her clothes were tattered, her hair frayed. Sitting on a stone like she was waiting for judgment.
Beside her stood a Momodo with long, spiked arms and glowing eyes.
But he wasn't posturing. He wasn't charging.
He was watching Veyrun.
The girl stood slowly.
"We know who you are."
Hina tensed. The Codex reacted, pulsing once.
Veyrun nodded. "Name?"
"Yara. And this is Nox."
"Why haven't you attacked?"
The girl smiled weakly.
"Because Nox hasn't spoken since the last battle."
Hina's eyes darted to the tall Momodo. His spell signature flickered — weak, unstable.
"He took a hit?"
"No. He heard a name."
Veyrun tilted his head. "Whose?"
"Kivar."
The name hit the space like a dropped mirror.
Nox shuddered — visibly. His glyph aura twisted, then flickered out.
"His book glitched," Yara whispered.
"One second he was mid-spell, the next… he just stopped."
Veyrun stepped forward.
"Show me his book."
Yara hesitated.
Then opened it.
The spellbook pages weren't burning. They weren't blank.
They were looping.
The same sigil kept appearing again and again:
∇
∇
∇
Veyrun touched the edge of the page.
And Nox flinched.
"He's not broken," Veyrun said.
"He's caught between two versions of himself."
"You mean… like Brago?"
"Like all of us."
He turned to Nox and whispered:
"Do you remember when you wanted to be king?"
The Momodo's hands twitched.
"Do you remember how they told you what kind of king you'd be?"
"Aggressive. Silent. Powerful."
"That wasn't your idea, was it?"
Nox fell to his knees.
The spellbook pulsed again — once.
The glyphs restructured.
"They wrote that into your progression."
"But what if you could write yourself back?"
Nox looked up, and for the first time since the loop, he spoke:
"Can I?"
Veyrun placed a hand on his shoulder.
"That's what I'm here for."
Suddenly — the sky rippled.
An arrival.
Not an Elder Agent this time.
But a Watcher.
Hina had only heard about them — the Obedience Network's mobile scouts. Not quite Momodo. Not human. Half-coded things with armor built from memory residue.
It hovered above the amphitheater, scanning glyph-chatter.
"Unregistered book detected," it buzzed.
"Engaging cleanse."
Hina stepped in front of Yara instinctively. "We have to fight."
"No," Veyrun said.
He turned toward the Watcher — arms open.
"We rewrite."
The Codex opened mid-air, spinning its pages like a fan.
Hina's hand moved without her will.
She drew a circle.
No chant.
Just intent.
VELTZEK'HARA.
The glyph exploded outward in pure sigil-light.
The Watcher's body twitched — frozen mid-strike.
Its scan-eye shattered. Its wings fell limp.
But its book — yes, even Watchers have books — flipped open behind it.
And the glyphs began to rearrange themselves.
"What are you doing to it?" Yara whispered.
Veyrun watched, calm.
"Unwriting its binding."
Suddenly — the Watcher spoke.
Not in system code.
In voice.
"I… am… N'tael."
"I was… not supposed to remember."
Its body cracked apart — not in agony, but in relief.
A soft burst of golden static.
And then silence.
The amphitheater was quiet again.
Yara fell to her knees, crying.
Nox stood tall, his book now empty — but no longer repeating.
He walked to Veyrun and bowed — not out of submission.
Out of clarity.
"Thank you," he said.
"I'll find others."
"You won't need to."
Veyrun turned toward the horizon.
"They're already dreaming."
—short chap I'm about to smoke like a chimney