The group headed south, fleeing the crushing presence of Thorne Varkas and the growing grind of the Supreme Executor.

  The dark crystal tuning fork Aion had given Lysa was the key. It didn't point a direction in the traditional sense; it reacted. In Lysa's hands, it vibrated subtly, emitting an almost inaudible hum that changed pitch and intensity depending on the environment. Andrel, with his sensitivity to Code fragments, could partially interpret these changes.

  "It doesn't point to a place," Andrel explained in the first days of flight, while trying to decipher the vibrations of the crystal Lysa held. "It reacts to the flaws. To the points where the Blind Desert weakens the System's Staff. Where the original song, or its absence, is stronger. Aion said to follow the flaws... the tuning fork shows us where they are deepest."

  After what felt like weeks wandering that surreal and hostile landscape, guided only by the vibrating sound of Aion's crystal, the tuning fork's tone began to change. It became more stable, less reactive to immediate flaws, and started pulsing with a constant note, pointing decidedly southeast.

  "It stopped guiding us through the flaws," said Andrel, his voice hoarse with thirst and exhaustion, observing the crystal in Lysa's hand. "Now... it seems to be leading us out. To the desert's edge. To somewhere with a more... organized Code."

  "Civilization?" Kael asked, hope mixed with apprehension. Civilization meant water, food, rest. But it also meant the System, the Purification, danger.

  "Whatever it is, that's where the sound leads us," Lysa said.

  They followed the constant note for two more days, the glassy sand gradually giving way to stony ground, then packed earth, and finally, sparse vegetation. The air became less dry, less charged with static. And then, on the horizon, through the heat haze that still shimmered, they saw it. Towers. White and elegant, piercing the pale blue sky. A city. Large, organized, unmistakably under the System's domain.

  The approach was slow, cautious. As they drew nearer, the city's scale revealed itself. It was an important center, with high walls patrolled by System Guards in gleaming armor, imposing gates controlling the flow in and out, and banners bearing the King's Eye and symbols of Noble Houses fluttering in the wind. The air vibrated with the energy of thousands of registered Lives, a cacophony of Codes that almost overwhelmed Andrel after the relative quiet of the desert.

  The Purification Protocol was visible everywhere. Posters with Lysa's stylized face – "ABSOLUTE ANOMALY – Wanted for Neutralization" – were nailed to posts and walls. Strict checkpoints had been set up on the main roads, where guards used runic detectors to scan every person, every cart. Fear hung over the city like a toxic cloud; even from a distance, they could feel the tension in the shoulders of citizens moving hastily through the visible streets, gazes lowered, avoiding eye contact.

  "What city is this?" Kael asked, observing the familiar architecture of slender towers and polished white marble.

  Nox, who had served in various regions before deserting, narrowed his eyes. "By the sigils and location... south, past the Blind Desert... it can only be one. Lysendar. Noble district, trade hub, known for its Houses of Arts and... the influence of House Tyron."

  The name hit Lysa like a physical blow. Lysendar. House Tyron. She knew those towers. Knew that marble. Knew the scent of wealth and control emanating from that place. Lady Vareth Tyron. High Healer of the Social Chamber. Resided there. Lina Tyron, the cruel daughter who used her as a shock doll, probably too. Two names from her list. There. Right in front of her.

  A wave of heat surged through her body – the old fury, the memory of the crystal pedestal, the black rose perfume, the guests' laughter. The urge to divert their path, find the Tyron mansion, cross off two more names with Veyla's blade was almost overwhelming. But she looked at her companions. Wounded. Exhausted. Hunted. Kael needed a real healer. Andrel could barely stand. Selene and Rukk were too conspicuous to move freely in such a city under the Purification. And Nox... Nox was a soldier, but even he looked tired of the constant running.

  Revenge can wait, a part of her whispered, the part Aion might have awakened. The group's survival comes first. The mission. But another part, the one forged by Grenda, Vareth, Hadrik, Sario, Vexil, screamed for blood. The proximity was a cruel temptation. She kept the information to herself, the conflict burning silently beneath her focused leader's mask.

  "We need to get inside unseen," she said, her voice neutral. "Find a place to rest, resupply. The slums or abandoned districts on the outskirts should be our best bet. Away from the eyes of the Guard and the nobles."

  Nox agreed. "Lysendar's west side has always been neglected. Old docks, abandoned warehouses. If anywhere offers shadow, it's there. But even there, the Purification will have its informants."

  They skirted the main city, moving through the arid hills surrounding it, until they found the decrepit industrial zone on the western edge, a maze of crumbling red brick buildings, narrow streets filled with trash, and the smell of stagnant water from the nearby river. It was a grim place, forgotten by the opulence of the rest of Lysendar, yet still inhabited by those living on the margins – workers without significant Value, petty criminals, families who had lost everything. And perhaps, other renegades.

  They chose a large abandoned warehouse near the dry docks, its twisted metal structure offering some cover and multiple escape routes. The interior was vast, dark, and smelled of mold and rust. Rukk stayed outside, camouflaged among the shadows of a collapsed wall, while Selene kept silent watch. Kael and Andrel finally allowed themselves to sit, exhaustion evident in every line of their faces. Nox checked the exits, his military mind already planning the defense.

  Lysa was about to search for water or something edible when a sound made her freeze. A metallic clang from the back of the warehouse, followed by a heavy footstep on the broken concrete. Not a guard. Not a homeless person. Something... familiar.

  "Well, well..." A deep, rough voice echoed through the dark vastness, a voice Lysa hadn't heard in years but recognized instantly, feeling a chill run down her spine. The voice from the mines. The voice of cruel apathy. "Look what the Purification dragged into my backyard. Aberrations."

  From the darkness, a figure slowly emerged. Tall, broader than Lysa remembered, but still with the same wide shoulders and ragged beard, now graying and soot-stained. He wore heavy, patched work clothes, and carried not a sword, but a modified mining sledgehammer, its metal head gleaming with crudely etched impact runes. In his eyes, the same empty expression as always, but now with a feverish, almost desperate glint.

  Hadrik Fenrel. One of the five names on the list. Here.

  "Heard about the Kingdom's notice," Hadrik continued, advancing slowly, the sledgehammer swinging slightly beside him. "Say the System's finally gonna clean up the trash. Rid the world of mistakes like... you." He looked directly at Lysa. "Always knew you were trouble. That Zero stubbornness of yours in not dying..."

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Kael and Nox were already on their feet, weapons drawn. Andrel tried to stand, leaning on a rusty beam for support.

  "We don't want trouble," Kael said, his voice firm, attempting diplomacy. "We're just passing through."

  Hadrik laughed, an unpleasant sound, like rocks grinding. "Trouble? You are the trouble! Anomalies! The dregs weakening the System! But I can be useful. I can turn you in. Or I can just... clean up the trash myself. Earn some credit. Maybe even a decent Value again."

  He didn't wait for an answer. With a guttural roar, he charged, raising the runic sledgehammer. The weapon's head glowed with unstable energy.

  "DIE, MISTAKES!"

  The attack wasn't aimed just at Lysa, but at the entire group. The battle for the abandoned warehouse had begun.

  The fight against Hadrik Fenrel was different from facing the calculating nobles of the Glass Circle or the disciplined Executor like Thorne. Hadrik had no finesse, no refined technique. He was brute force, absurd resilience, and a fury born of desperation and years of crushing labor in the bowels of the earth. His runic sledgehammer, though crudely enchanted, struck with the weight of an avalanche, each blow shattering concrete, felling beams, forcing the group to constantly move to avoid being crushed.

  He used the warehouse environment with the familiarity of someone who spent life in decrepit, dangerous structures. Knocked over unstable shelves to block paths, kicked rusty barrels towards them, used shadows and dark corners for short, brutal ambushes. His skin seemed thicker than normal, perhaps from years in the mines or some residual effect from the place where Lysa found the Pre-Root station. Blows that should have incapacitated him seemed only to anger him.

  Nox, with his military experience, took the front line, trying to intercept Hadrik's heaviest blows with his longsword. It was a duel of strength against strength, steel against runic stone, but Nox quickly realized parrying the sledgehammer directly was too taxing. He switched to deflection tactics, using surprising agility for a man his size to redirect the force of Hadrik's attacks against the environment itself, making the hammer lodge in beams or create holes in the floor that hindered the miner's movement.

  Kael flanked, using Trafal for swift attacks on Hadrik's sides and legs, trying to find weak points in his makeshift defense. He also tried using fragments of his old faith to heal minor wounds on the group or create small barriers of light that, while not lasting long against Hadrik's force, served as vital distractions.

  Andrel, still weak, focused on support and disruption magic. He lacked the power to face Hadrik directly, but could cast slowing seals that stuck to the miner's feet, confusion runes that briefly distorted his perception, or even reactivate rusty machinery in the warehouse to create noise and chaos, confusing Hadrik's senses. His contribution was subtle but crucial in unbalancing the giant.

  Selene and Rukk were the heavy artillery. Keeping a safe distance, Selene directed Rukk with silent commands. The stone titan used its immense strength to tear chunks from the floor and hurl them at Hadrik, create barriers of rubble, or charge directly when there was an opening, its rock fists clashing against Hadrik's sledgehammer in explosions of sparks and thunderous sound. Rukk was the only one who could match Hadrik's brute force, but the warehouse's confined space limited its movements, and Hadrik was smart enough to use columns and walls as cover against the titan's slower attacks.

  Lysa was the chaotic, decisive element. She moved between them all, a swift, lethal shadow. Used Stealth to reposition, Rapid Adaptation to react to unexpected attacks, and the recently absorbed Soldier Style from Nox to add a new layer of defensive precision to her movements. Veyla's dagger relentlessly sought openings. She also used Minor Reality Tear tactically, not on Hadrik directly (his lack of strong System connection perhaps partially protecting him), but on the environment – making a rusty chain swing at the right moment, a puddle suddenly freeze under his feet, a shadow deepen to conceal Kael's attack.

  The battle dragged on. Hadrik was incredibly resilient. Took cuts from Kael, was hit by Rukk's stones, stumbled on Andrel's runes, was flanked by Nox, yet kept fighting, roaring, sledgehammer swinging like an instrument of pure destruction. He seemed driven by something beyond simple survival; a dark desperation in his eyes, a need to prove something, inflict pain, perhaps find some meaning in this final act of violence.

  The turning point came when Hadrik, in a blind fury after being hit by a heavy blow from Rukk that made him drop the sledgehammer for an instant, pulled something from his belt: small spheres of dull metal. Mining charges.

  "If I go down, I'm taking you with me!" he yelled, activating the spheres with a red runic glow.

  "Unstable charges!" Andrel warned, recognizing the symbols. "They'll blow in seconds!"

  Panic threatened to take hold, but Nox reacted first. "Kael, light barrier, now! Selene, Rukk, contain the blast! Andrel, disrupt his trigger! Lysa!"

  Lysa needed no orders. While the others created a desperate defense, she saw the only chance. Hadrik was focused on throwing the charges, guard down for a single second.

  She used everything she had. Propelled herself with Enhanced Strength, bent minimal reality before her with the Tear to gain an instant, and slid across the debris-strewn floor. Veyla's dagger came up, not to kill, but to disarm. The black blade sliced Hadrik's hand the moment he was about to throw the first sphere.

  The charges fell to the floor, rolling harmlessly, the runic trigger undone by the precise cut.

  Hadrik howled in pain and surprise, clutching his bleeding hand. And in that moment of vulnerability, the combined attack came.

  Nox advanced with his sword, an upward strike forcing Hadrik back. Kael seized the opening, driving Trafal into the miner's thigh. Rukk, commanded by Selene, struck Hadrik's back with a stone fist that brought him to his knees. And Andrel, gathering his last strength, cast a paralysis seal that finally found purchase in Hadrik's resistance, making his muscles lock up.

  Hadrik Fenrel was defeated. Panting, bleeding, kneeling amidst the destroyed warehouse, surrounded by the five renegades and the stone beast.

  Lysa approached slowly, dagger still in hand, ready to finish it. Hadrik's eyes met hers. The emptiness was still there, but now mixed with pain, exhaustion, and... something else. A spark of resigned recognition.

  "You... always you... the Zero who doesn't break..." he murmured, his voice a throat-clearing rasp. He spat blood. "Should've left you to die in that fissure..."

  "Why attack us, Hadrik? For the System? For a higher Value?" Lysa asked, her voice cold.

  Hadrik gave a dry, pained laugh. "System... Value... Trash. All trash. I attacked because... because it was easier. Easier to go with the flow. Easier to be the hammer than the anvil again."

  He coughed, more blood staining his beard. "I saw... in the mine... that old station... touched it before you did. Felt the different Code. Tried... to understand. Tried... to change my own registry. Create something... mine. Outside their Staff." His eyes seemed to see something distant. "But the System... it doesn't just punish. It... empties you. Shows you how small you are. How useless it is to fight the tide. It broke me inside. Took... the will. Left just... the shell. Apathy. Easier to obey when you feel nothing. The Purification... just another order. Just another day in the mine."

  The words hit Kael and Andrel with unexpected force. Kael looked away, hand instinctively going to the broken symbol of his old faith under his tunic, remembering his own disillusionment, how the System let him live only to remember his failure. Andrel felt a lump in his throat, seeing in Hadrik a dark reflection of himself – the programmer who tried rewriting the rules and was fragmented for it. Both saw not just an enemy, but a victim of the same existential meat grinder they fought.

  Lysa heard the confession in silence. Saw the man who treated her like a tool, sold her for boots, let children die in fissures. But also saw the shadow of what he could have been – another renegade, another broken by trying to be free. Felt a flicker of something that might be pity, but it was faint, buried under years of scars. He was still a name on the list. The one embodying the apathetic brutality of the world that created her.

  "Your attempt doesn't justify what you became," Lysa said, her voice still cold.

  "No..." Hadrik agreed, a last breath escaping. "Nothing... justifies... anything... We just... survive... until we... don't anymore..."

  His eyes lost focus. His body relaxed. Hadrik Fenrel was dead.

  Lysa stared at him for a moment. The second name. Mentally crossed off. The satisfaction was less than expected. Clouded by his confession, by Kael and Andrel's reaction. Revenge was more complicated than it seemed when she was alone in the dungeon.

  But then, she remembered. Lysendar. They were in Lysendar. Home of House Tyron. Lady Vareth. Lina. The next names. The proximity was almost dizzying. The Code, or fate, or pure chaos, seemed to conspire to put her tormentors in her path, one after another.

  Convenience, she thought with dark irony. Or maybe... the Staff rewriting itself through me.

  She turned to the group, who watched her in tense silence.

  The weight of what came next hung in the warehouse's dusty air, as palpable as the smell of blood and the distant grinding of the Supreme Executor's gears.