Year 254, Age of Pioneers

  Phong Lao had left the Mugen Islands twenty-three years ago. One fine morning, he had taken his hat and abandoned everything to explore the world.

  He was currently traversing the Agatheene Archipelago, his steps light despite the years weighing on his shoulders. His small conical hat rested atop his long white hair, which floated in the morning breeze. If Phong’s eyes sparkled with youthful curiosity, they were no less framed by deep wrinkles. His immaculate, meticulously groomed beard cascaded over the folds of his dazzling white robe, cinched at the waist by a brown sash.

  After long hours of walking, he spotted a welcoming grove and decided it was time for a break. This little island of greenery seemed to have been waiting just for him, inviting a moment of rest.

  With slow grace, he approached, choosing a spot among the grass to sit. He placed his hat beside him, letting his face glow under the sunlight filtered through the foliage. He opened his timeworn canvas bag—a good bag, simple and practical, but also the only memento he had left of his mother—and pulled out a sandwich carefully wrapped in a piece of cloth. The bread, speckled with grains, was filled with fresh herbs and a thick slice of cheese, all enhanced by a touch of local honey he’d acquired at a market in the archipelago. Phong took a bite, closing his eyes to better savor the simple yet invigorating flavors.

  As Phong relished his sandwich, the simple tastes stirring memories of childhood, the world around him seemed to pause. A calm enveloped the grove, disturbed only by the occasional rustle of leaves. The birds perched nearby had fallen silent, as if to let Phong enjoy this moment of solitude.

  He took a moment to watch ants busying themselves on a nearby trunk, fascinated by their dedication and tireless work. Their existence, so frantic yet so orderly.

  After savoring the last bite of his sandwich, Phong leaned against the rough bark of a tree, his eyes half-closed, lulled by the caress of the forest’s cool air on his skin. He felt the solid, reassuring earth beneath him, breathing deeply the scents of the vegetation. It was in these moments of tranquility that he found clarity, his mind wandering as freely as when he roamed the roads.

  A gentle breeze rose, carrying to his ears the murmur of a nearby stream.

  He stood slowly, gathered his belongings, adjusted his hat, and, guided by the crystalline sound of the water, set off.

  After just a few minutes, the soft murmur of the stream was suddenly interrupted by a deep, repetitive noise coming from deeper in the forest.

  BOOM… BOOM… BOOM… rhythmic and steady.

  Phong, his brow slightly furrowed with curiosity, paused to listen more closely. The echo of the sound bounced between the trees, making its origin uncertain.

  Without haste, he resumed his walk, his steps leading him toward the source of the rhythm. He moved through the underbrush, stepping over roots and rocks, the cadence of the booms growing louder and clearer as he progressed. The birds, previously silent, took flight noisily at his approach, as if warning him.

  Soon, the forest opened onto a clearing where the sight that met his eyes was as grandiose as it was bewildering.

  At the center of the clearing stood an ancient circular temple, overgrown with vegetation. It was crowned by a dome supported by iridescent columns, their hues reminiscent of oil on a puddle of water—shades that danced and shimmered depending on the angle and the light that grazed them.

  The temple’s door, made of a strange black metal, absorbed the surrounding light with unsettling intensity. This metal exuded something truly peculiar, like an absence rather than a presence, a black hole carved into reality.

  Before the door stood a young man. His forehead beaded with sweat, he seemed to muster colossal strength to strike the unyielding surface with his fists.

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  BOOM… BOOM… BOOM…

  Phong settled at the edge of the clearing to observe the young man exhausting himself against the door. Each blow sent a shockwave that dissipated into the black metal.

  The young man wore an unusual outfit. A voluminous burgundy cape, adorned with golden patterns and topped with a single rune, billowed around him with each strike.

  His piercing blue eyes glared at the door with anger.

  Sweat dripping from his pale forehead matted his disheveled blond hair to his face.

  Phong sat for a good hour, watching the young man batter the obstinate door that refused to yield, before deciding to intervene. He rose gently and crossed the clearing.

  When he was a few steps from the young man, he gave a small wave.

  “Hello,” he said.

  The young man stopped, panting, his gaze still fixed on the impenetrable black surface.

  “Hello,” he replied with a nod, before striking the door again.

  “Pardon my curiosity,” Phong continued, “but is there a particular reason you’re pummeling this poor door?”

  The young man paused his blows, short of breath, and turned to Phong. He took a moment to catch his breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a brisk gesture before answering.

  “I have to get inside,” he said simply, resuming his barrage.

  Phong raised an eyebrow.

  “Just out of curiosity,” he asked softly, “have you tried simply opening it?”

  The young man, caught off guard by the question, froze mid-swing.

  “Yeah, but this embering door won’t budge!” he exclaimed before resuming his assault.

  “Allow me to try something,” Phong said, approaching the door.

  He examined the surface, his fingers gliding over the cold metal, intuitively searching for an irregularity or hidden mechanism.

  After a moment, he positioned himself firmly before the door and grasped the handle.

  He closed his eyes and began to search. There had to be a moment when the door had been opened.

  Nothing. Very curious, Phong thought.

  Perhaps a moment when it would be opened.

  There!

  The handle turned softly, and the door opened with a low groan. With an expression of astonishment, the young man stared at Phong, dumbfounded.

  “How did you do that?” he asked.

  Phong smiled.

  “I searched for a moment when the door was open,” he explained.

  “What, in time?” the young man asked, perplexed.

  “Exactly,” Phong replied.

  “That’s ridiculous. Time doesn’t work like that,” the young man retorted. “You can’t just search for a moment.”

  “According to whom?” Phong asked, his smile widening.

  The stranger rummaged under his cape and pulled out an apple, which he bit into greedily. As he chewed, he stared intently at the fruit in his hand.

  To Phong’s surprise, the apple began to flicker and reconstituted itself, becoming whole again.

  Phong flinched when the young man, after swallowing the bite in his mouth, burst into laughter. A loud, almost manic laugh.

  “Ember, that’s utterly absurd,” he said between chuckles, before turning to Phong. “What’s your name, kid?”

  Phong frowned. This young man was clearly unhinged—talented, certainly, but rattled in the leaves, as his mother would have said.

  “Phong Lao,” he replied with a short bow. “And you are?”

  The stranger’s face lit up.

  “Pleased to finally meet you,” he said, sidestepping the question.