Since his talk with Elysia that night, Pheo's rhythm of life had shifted. He slept away the long days with his curtains drawn tight, waking up once or twice when the doctor needed to check up on him.
When nightfall came however, things changed. Pheo would slip off when the camp was less active, making his way to The Crimson Hall. No one would dare linger within its walls, knowing that The Director himself announced that it was Pheo's property.
With The Director's words as a repellant for others and The Crimson Hall being a veil for what's truly under there, he was able to descend down to the cistern vaults and safely enter the ruins without anyone noticing.
He would slip below each night, lantern dimmed to a glow as he began uncovering the secrets that lay dormant. He pieced together the fragments, figuring out how to use the cracked keyboards and rewired loose connections.
Pheo would learn the panels that responded to different actions, which ones represented what variable. Eventually, he found a world of data, from years past all the way to the present.
The maps and fragile sheets revealed to him the scarred skin of the Badlands. It looked more domestic back then, where great cities once stood was now filled with endless sand. The world he saw there was one he could barely imagine, one that would only appear in his wildest dreams.
Then he discovered Meteorology. First finding the diagrams confusing, arrows that curved across circles, symbols for pressure with cryptic notes in a tongue almost lost. With enough time however, he managed to piece them together.
He also read from the lines of code stuttering across the screens, the diagrams refreshing in broken sequences. Sometimes a map of the coastline would flare to life, showing wind streams that funnel toward The Badlands.
Other times a glitching feed would overlay temperatures across the desert, with crimson blooms radiating from the sand long into the night. All of this information seemed to be irrelevant at first, but Pheo knew better than to disregard them.
Pheo recorded what he could in his own hand. He sketched wind patterns, traced storm cycles, and filled in margins with his own questions. When a screen would die, he would pry it open, study whatever he could from what was available to him.
When he was certain of what he had learnt, he would attempt crude repairs. Each success was small, but together they formed a mosaic of understanding. And always, he was alone, with no eyes following him into the vaults or voices to help him.
The people of The Old World had left behind more than just data, but a map of how the desert breathed. And as Pheo pieced it altogether, he begins to feel the shape of the truth. The Badlands were not just a wasteland, but a storm engine, a place where sea and sand waged an eternal war.
He figured out how tempests were made, how cold air collapsing into valleys ignited sudden storms, and that different types of clouds exist. But most importantly, he had discovered how the dust devils suddenly form at night in The Badlands.
The monitors showed it plainly, he just didn't see it until now. Cold air from the sea swept inland in great invisible waves, heavy and sharp, carrying the memory of the deep. It rushed across the flat expanse in search of balance.
But the sand resisted. Having a unique property to absorb the sun's furnace all day, the desert released its hoarded heat at night in slow, unyielding waves. The air above the dunes shimmered with rising thermals, a force as relentless as the tide.
Where the two fronts collided, chaos bloomed. He watched simulations stutter across the cracked screens. Spirals of wind twisting upward as the cool air knifes through the heat, dust plumes forming columns that writhed like living things.
He recognized them, the dust devils that formed every night. These were not accidents, they weren't formed by a person's gift or a mysterious deity. They were inevitabilities, the product of two forces of nature colliding together.
The sea sought to cool, while the desert sought to burn. Their struggle birthed dust devils by the hundreds, some fleeting while others violent enough to scour entire valleys clean.
Pheo traced his finger across the glowing lines, imagining the invisible clash taking place above his head each night. And for the first time, The Badlands seemed less like a barren grave and more like a living engine.
Studying the ruins became more than just a secret pursuit for Pheo, but a break from The Badlands themselves. In the stillness of the broken lab, surrounded by humming consoles and half-lit maps, Pheo could lose himself easily in the data.
Down there, the world's cruelty felt distant. The wind could not reach him, the heat could not scorch him, and the memories of pain dulled beneath the glow of fractured screens. Night after night, he let the ruins distract him as his body slowly knit itself back together.
By the time his wounds had closed and his strength returned, he had gathered most of what he needed. An understanding of The Badlands' shifting geography and a deeper understanding of the skies.
Having read and understood most of the knowledge there, he knew that he would eventually reach a ceiling. Pheo knew that it was time for him to stop studying, to continue traversing the path ahead if he wanted to solve the curse.
He then hid the ruins, blocking it under furniture and debris. Pheo
So now that he was finished learning all he could from the city, he decided to switch to his body. Pheo began to shift back to the old pattern, reverting back to waking during the day and sleeping at night.
The next morning, Pheo made his way toward the practice grounds. The air there was sharp with the smell of dust and sweat, the faint clang of weapons echoing against wooden targets.
He had resolved to begin his training as soon as he could, to find the four operatives that The Director had allowed him to train under and watch how they teach. But before his feet could even touch the training grounds, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"There you are."
Pheo turned to see Anora standing a few paces away, her arms folded and eyes fixed on him. "I've been looking for you," she said. "I was heading to train," Pheo replied. That made her pause, then a small smile tugged at her lips.
"Training, huh? Good. Not many your age are already thinking about that. Most wait until they're forced to. Shows that you're at least looking ahead." She motioned with her hand. "Come with me."
Pheo hesitated, then fell into step beside her as she started walking. They wove through the camp, past tents where fires smoked and voices murmured. After a stretch of silence, Anora glanced at him.
"Where have you been, anyway? Barely anyone's seen you around. People were starting to wonder if you'd vanished." Pheo shrugged. "Just thought I'd look around the city while recovering."
"Mm." She didn't press, though her tone carried a bit of doubt. They walked a little further before Anora spoke again. "Hey, do you know how this camp operates?" Pheo shook his head.
"It runs like a hierarchy," she explained. "The higher your rank, the more you get. Better rations, a better room for yourself, and more say in things that matter. You don't just get privileges with a higher rank too though, but more responsibility. It's better that way, gives people something to aim for."
"How about those at the very top, what would they aim for then?" Pheo asked. "They carry more than they gain." Her expression hardened slightly, then softened again. "But not everyone follows the ladder."
"Just like The Director, they're indispensable. Outside of the system, because without them in the militia, the camp wouldn't hold together. It would lower our position in the Badlands, making us no different than the bandits."
"I understand The Director, but who else is indispensable?" Pheo asked her. Anora gave a short breath, half a laugh but without humor. "People who are basically the foundation of this place. Everyone can be replaced, but they can't."
Pheo let her words sink in, his eyes drifting over the camp. The order beneath the noise, the unspoken balance and respect given, they all started to make more sense to him. "Why are you telling me this?" He asked quietly.
"Because you're going to be here for a while," Anora said simply. "Might as well get to know how it works around here." Then her voice hardened, her gaze cutting sideways at him. "That is, if you pick me as your first mentor."
Pheo blinked, taken aback. "What?" The sudden turn in her tone threw him off, and for a moment he wondered if she was serious. But before he could ask again, Anora stopped walking, lifting her chin toward the yard ahead.
A squad was in the middle of drills. Some of them were climbing rope nets, others running short obstacle sprints while some sparring with each other with practice blades. Their movements were efficient, sharp, with no wasted motion.
Even without armor, their dark uniforms and the precision of their actions gave them a presence. The moment they noticed Anora, the group immediately broke from their training and snapped into formation.
Their fists struck against their chests in salute, sweat still running down their brows. "At ease," Anora ordered. She motioned toward Pheo. "Introduce yourselves to your new junior."
Junior?
One of the fighters stepped forward, speaking clearly despite his heavy breaths. "We are the Hollow Ravens, ma'am. The one and only reconnaissance group needed. Composed of specialists in infiltration, intelligence gathering, and remaining unseen."
The name settled in Pheo's ears, The Hollow Ravens. A recon group, the shadows that operate under Anora. He glanced at her, her earlier words still stinging faintly, but she gave no sign of returning them.
He shifted uneasily, glancing from the Hollow Ravens back to Anora. "Don't decide so fast," he said, his voice firmer than he expected. "I have the choice to pick who my mentor could be."
Anora's eyes narrowed, not in anger but like a predator cornering their prey. She stepped closer, lowering her voice so that only he could hear. "If you want to live," she said, her tone like cold steel, "you don't."
Before Pheo could answer, she turned on her heel and reached into the formation, tugging one of the Hollow Ravens forward. The agent, a wiry figure with sharp eyes and a stillness that spoke of long training, stood at attention without question.
"I want you to tell our junior what my gift is," Anora ordered. The agent nodded once, voice steady and respectful. "It is called God's eye." The words seemed to hang in the air, its name heavy.
Pheo looked back at Anora, unease threading into curiosity. Although he didn't know what God's eye meant just yet, knowing how Anora was already in a high position, he knew that it wasn't any ordinary gift.
Anora's gaze sharpened on the agent. "And what's known about my gift so far?" The soldier didn't hesitate. "It's the power to see the essence of things." Anora tilted her head slightly. "Essence? I don't think our junior here would understand that. Be specific."
He straightened further, his words precise. "The gift a person carries. Their state of mind. With it, you can determine the nature of living things. Where they are, what they are, and distortions such as lies from statements."
Pheo froze. His mind snapped back to that moment with The Director. The lie he'd told, with Anora present in the room. If she had used God's eye then…
His stomach tightened. The worst case clawed at him. If she was able to see the essence of things, would she also be able to see The Golden Flame that resides within him? If that were true, then Anora already knew more than she was letting on.
"Good enough," Anora said, breaking the silence. She waved her hand in dismissal. "You're free to go. I'll speak to your junior alone." The Hollow Ravens saluted again before scattering back to their drills.
There wasn't a word of protest, not a glance toward Pheo, just simple obedience to her orders. Anora set off without another word, forcing Pheo to follow. She led him away from the training yard, past tents and stone walls until the noise of camp life thinned into silence.
Finally, she stopped in the shadow of an old supply shack, its walls worn and its corner tucked just enough out of sight. She turned to him, eyes sharp and unreadable. Then came the question, soft but edged like a blade.
"How much do you think I know?"
Pheo froze at the question. His mouth went dry. He opened it once, then shut it again, words tangling before they could form. For a moment, silence pressed on him heavier than any threat.
Then, slowly, he cleared his mind. If her gift truly saw "truths from lies," then maybe he could slip through its cracks, dance along the gray zones of what a truth was. Half-truths, omissions, words that were true but didn't quite answer her questions.
"I don't know," his words came out shaky. "You have God's eye after all, only you know the extent of your gift." Anora grinned, "You don't know? Or you're too afraid to admit it?"
Pheo swallowed hard. "Maybe both. After all, people lie to keep secrets. And secrets stay as secrets for a reason. Maybe for themselves, or maybe for others." Her smile lingered, thin and cutting. "Secrets, hm? You speak like someone with more than a few."
Pheo steadied his breath. "Everyone has secrets." He needed to find a way to get Anora's suspicions off him. "Not the same as yours." She took a step closer, her eyes never leaving him. "Most secrets are harmless. Yours isn't."
Pheo clenched his fists at his sides. "And how would you know that?" Her smile widened just slightly, though her voice dropped into something colder. "Because God's Eye doesn't just catch lies as you've heard before. It also shows me a bit of the person's gift, just enough to know the color of yours."
Pheo could feel his stomach twist, her words clearly closing in on what he was trying to keep a secret from The Director. He tried to hold her gaze, to shield what was clawing at the back of his mind. "You act as if you know everything, but you seem oddly vague about it when it comes to the truth."
"Maybe you're right, I might not know everything." Anora shrugged, though her eyes stayed sharp. "But I know enough about you. Golden Boy." The words dropped like stone between them.
Pheo's chest tightened. She hadn't named it outright, but she'd edged just close enough that denial felt like a trap in itself. Desperation built up, like heat he could no longer contain.
"Even if you know even part of what I carry," he said, voice low and edged, "Then tell me, do you really think you could fight me? Even with everyone in this camp, including The Director?"
For a moment, the air seemed to thrum with the weight of his words. Then Anora laughed. It was light and dismissive, as though he had told a child's joke. "Fight you?" she repeated, shaking her head.
"You're bold, I'll give you that. But right now you're nothing more than a baby armed with a gun. Dangerous, sure, but too clumsy to aim, too reckless to know when to pull the trigger."
The words cut deeper than Pheo expected. His fists clenched, heat flashing across his face as the insult burrowed in him like a thorn. She didn't see him as a threat, just a child swinging blindly at shadows.
Anora caught the shift in his expression and softened her tone. "Don't take it to heart. I'm not mocking you." She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be standing here right now."
Pheo stiffened, but said nothing. "Listen." Her voice steadied, losing its sharpness. "I told you before, remember? I'm grateful you saved my life. That wasn't just words, I meant it. And the only way I can repay you is by making sure you don't get caught."
She stepped closer, her gaze unblinking. "Those reckless stunts you've been pulling have caught not just The Director's attention. It isn't like it was in The Caverns, you showed the world your power by using it in The Free City."
"If you continue down this path you're taking, sooner or later someone less forgiving than me will notice," Anora continued. "The Director has already been looking for the cause of The Golden Flame. Others less forgiving may also be looking into it, do you think you can keep avoiding them alone?"
He stayed silent, the weight of her words pressing against the one thing he couldn't afford to admit. "That's why I'm offering this," she said. "If you want to keep your secret, your best choice is to train under me."
"I can promise that I'll do my best to keep you alive just as you did when I was at The Caverns." Her voice lowered, firm but unwavering. "But there's only one condition to this."
Pheo's throat felt dry. "...What?"
Anora crossed her arms, her expression hardening. "Honesty. I want everything you know about your power. Every detail, every mistake, every moment you had using your gift. This time, no half-truths or clever evasions."
"If I'm going to help you, then you're going to have to give me the truth. All of it." Her words settled between them like a challenge, heavy and inescapable. Pheo stood in silence, her demand echoing in his head.
Honesty. Everything about his gift laid bare before her. His first instinct screamed to refuse. Secrets were safer locked away. If Anora knew too much, if she decided to turn him over to The Director after learning everything… Would his mission still be possible?
But another thought pulled at him. She was right. He had been struggling to understand it. Each time it slipped, he could barely understand its capabilities. Maybe if he had a better understanding of how it works, on what exactly it could do, it would help him in his journey.
And if the wrong eyes noticed before he learned how to use it…
Anora had every advantage already. Her gift's ability, the authority she had in the camp, and her instincts that seemed to cut straight through his walls. If she wanted to corner him, she likely could.
Which left him with one real choice. Trust. Or at least, enough trust to gamble on. Finally, he exhaled, shoulders easing just slightly. "...Fine. I'll tell you." Anora's brow lifted, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Good. I was wondering how long you'd take."
"But not here." Pheo's voice was firm, sharper than she might have expected. "If I'm going to explain everything, then it has to be somewhere private. Somewhere no one can overhear."