Kael Ardyn's recovery was not a gentle return to awareness, but a forced, metallic transit. He floated in a space of cold, calculated motion, his body suspended by the precise dimensional field of The Courier's jump. The absolute certainty of the Courier's power was a stark contrast to the chaotic void; that certainty prevented Kael's unconscious mind from spiralling into further collapse.
He opened his eyes to see the Courier's neutral face hovering over him. The tracking plate Lysandra had dictated was pulsing faintly on Kael's wrist, its function complete.
"The contract is nearing fulfilment, Reclaimer," The Courier stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "The Arbitrator's debt of retrieval is paid. I have one final clause: the provision of actionable intelligence."
Kael tried to speak, but only a dry croak rasped from his throat. The exhaustion was a physical lead weight in his core.
"The Broker of Fates adapts quickly," the Courier continued, unfazed by Kael's silence. "It failed to feed on Trust and Obedience in the West. Its focus is now on a more ancient, fundamental power source: Hope. The bedrock of human striving. Its current location is Cairo. Your target is the Debt of Nihilism."
The Courier gestured to the shimmering dimensional window outside, where the sands and structures of a massive city resolved from geometric chaos.
"The Broker has targeted the city where the promise of tomorrow was first inscribed on stone," he explained. "If Hope fails, all future actions are moot. The consequence is not societal collapse, but spiritual paralysis Apathy applied on a global, suffocating scale."
The jump ended with a silent, seamless transition. Kael found himself in a quiet, secluded alcove in a Cairo market square, the warm, dry air immediately replacing the cold efficiency of the void.
The Courier stepped back. "My contract is complete. I owe no further service, nor do I wish to accrue further debt. Good luck, Reclaimer." With a clean, precise flicker, The Courier was gone.
Kael pushed himself up, leaning against a rough brick wall. He was weak, but functioning. He engaged his Karmic Sight.
The city was physically vibrant bustling markets, the distant sound of horns, the rich smell of spices and dust. But karmically, it was muted. The threads of human striving, ambition, and belief in the future were grey, heavy, and drooping. They vibrated with a deep, existential weariness. The collective Debt of Nihilism was already settling over the city, slowly smothering the promise of tomorrow.
He slipped through the increasingly quiet streets. The further he got, the heavier the apathy became. He saw merchants sitting silently, their goods untended; children staring blankly at the ground, their games abandoned.
The source of the contagion was the Grand Museum of Civilization a repository of stolen ambitions, representing thousands of years of civilization built on the simple, persistent Hope that tomorrow will be better than today.
At the main entrance of the Museum, the source of the nihilism stood revealed. It was a single, silent figure sitting on the steps, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of a disrupted street lamp. This was the Broker's new agent: The Apostle of Regret.
The Apostle was not physically menacing, but his power was catastrophic. He merely sat, radiating a field of pervasive, soul-crushing regret. He was actively using the historical artefacts—the silent evidence of humanity's failures and lost dreams—to broadcast the ultimate, corrosive lie: that all striving is futile, and the past guarantees only sorrow in the future.
Kael felt the paralysing weight of the Apostle's power—a philosophical attack on his very reason for fighting. Why fight, when the past guarantees the future will only bring more sorrow?
Kael was weak, his Absolution barely a whisper. He faced a Player whose power was built on crushing the most fundamental truth of all: that life is worth living. The fight for the Debt of Hope was a war against despair itself.