The bag lies there, tossed on the bed—open, yet still empty.

The sun is nearly rising, and Ilídia’s mind remains tangled in restless thoughts. How could she possibly run away from home?

She spends hours gazing out the window, silently wishing the moon would never leave. For a fleeting moment, it even seems possible—the engagement celebration had been called off due to a sudden downpour. Not because things got wet—some spell could have fixed that easily—but because it wasn’t a normal shift in weather. Sneaking past her relatives, she’d overheard someone cursing the oracle and muttering that the night would drag on tediously.

While everyone sleeps, the sky exhales serenity beneath the moon’s gentle glow. Yet as the moon begins to fade, the storm inside the girl’s chest only grows stronger.

The sun blooms on the horizon just as Ilídia finally places the first pieces of clothing into her bag. That is enough to conclude: she’s late. After tucking away some money stolen from her father into a side pocket and storing a bit of food in the remaining space, she climbs out the window. The early morning air is crisp and energizing. Ilídia forces herself to think of nothing—afraid that, if she does, she might abandon this madness before it’s too late.

None of the Treze seem to have slept—not that they really need to. Only the leader of the pack lies on the ground, apparently unconscious. The others rise when the girl arrives, forming a circle around her. In its center, small and slight compared to the rest, stands Doze.

"It’s time. There’s no turning back now. Go to Alter. There, you will find some answers. Good luck." The oracle’s voice echoes in her ears.

As if the Treze had heard and understood, the alpha of the group stirs and rises. The ground trembles—like a quake. The towering beast approaches Doze and Ilídia and opens the Soul Pit toward them. Terrified for the first time in front of them, she cannot move. Doze, however, steps inside its mouth without hesitation. Impatient, the creature sucks her in after him.

The last thing Ilídia remembers seeing is a group of people emerging from the forest, running.

Alter, the capital of Karma, is breathtaking.

It could easily be described as the dream of a grand architect, carved in marble and gold.

Where mighty Callun embodies speed, urgency, and a bit of aggression, Karma radiates arrogance, awe, and extravagance. Every building is massive, monumental. The streets form an organized labyrinth, branching in all directions—yet all paths seem to lead back to the palace. Stone trees ring the entire urban region, the strongest of which are used as watchtowers.

Architectural details in gold, silver, bronze, or brass clearly signal the social standing of the neighborhood—or the owners. The walls often house lush vertical gardens, magical ads with moving figures, and dark veins running beneath the surfaces—tiny inner tubes, channels through which citizens pay their taxes in mana. The Karman people are generally capable of small magical tricks; those of greater power are the domain of the Hor—messengers of the gods. Ilídia has never heard of any mages who weren’t one of them, which she always found… strange.

What secrets do those stone streets hold about themselves?