Matheo opened his eyes slowly. The starry sky stretched above him like a cloak, cold and silent. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. His body felt heavy, his mind clouded. Little by little, memories returned in fragments: the sparring against Lockless; the harsh instructions on posture and foundation; the sensation of being struck without even seeing the blow land. Noxium.

Matheo shut his eyes again and almost heard Lockless’s deep voice echoing in his mind like a hammer:

Lockless had explained that Noxium was the balance point between body and energy: the fusion of physical strength with the heat of the Black Light. It was moving fast enough to react to any threat and, at the same time, concentrating explosive energy strong enough to crush what stood before you. Speed alone wasn’t enough. Raw power wasn’t enough. It was the control of both forces in harmony. Every step, every punch, every breath had to align the body’s weight with the heat escaping the extremities, turning movement into absolute impact.

Noxium is not just strength. It is the weight of the body rooted in the earth, the center that never yields. He who masters the foundation can face any storm. Speed doesn’t matter, fury doesn’t matter: without foundation, even the mightiest strike is only wind.

Those words burned more than the pain in his muscles. He felt small, but also restless. If he wanted to avenge his family, he couldn’t be wind. He needed to be stone.

Then, older memories tore through his mind: his father collapsing before him, Marcela bleeding in his arms, his mother and sister dragged away by the Nyrr.

Hunger struck him next — cruel, searing. He clutched his stomach, and pain answered fiercely. Suddenly, a thought thundered through his mind: the training.

If he didn’t finish, he couldn’t hunt the next day. There would be no food. Perhaps no future.

Doubt assaulted him. Would he die trying? His body was already ruined, every muscle screaming. But when he closed his eyes, he saw his mother’s smile and his sister’s naive face. Rage ignited — steady, unyielding.

And then it happened.

A white aura began to emanate from his body — soft, but constant. Matheo didn’t notice. To him it was just the mixture of pain and determination burning inside his chest. But the energy was there, pulsing, answering his resolve.

With his eyes fixed on the ground scratched with exercise marks, Matheo hurled himself back in. Push-up after push-up, sit-up after sit-up, squat after squat. Each repetition was a battle against himself, each line carved in the dirt a cry against surrender. Time dissolved.

Hours later, the final squat fell upon his muscles like a sentence. He carved the last mark with his stick, staggered, and collapsed onto the ground, gasping. His hands trembled, his body burned like fire, but a smile crept onto his lips. I did it.

He drank the last sip of water from the bucket, leaving only the metallic taste of thirst in his mouth. And then he remembered: the second part of training still remained. Meditation.

He drew a deep breath, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. He needed to feel the Black Light around him, even if only a thread, a spark.

From the bedroom window, Lockless watched. The old warrior hardly blinked at the sight before him.

Matheo sat still, but something pulsed around him. The white aura — that strange color with no definition, belonging to no single domain — expanded slowly and steadily. Lockless narrowed his eyes.

And then he saw it.

Matheo’s right hand trembled, the air around it distorting like asphalt on a scorching afternoon. Orange light flickered — discreet, but undeniable. Caerys.

At the same time, his left hand stirred the grass on the ground. Lockless leaned forward, seeking to confirm if it was merely the night breeze. It wasn’t. The leaves responded directly to Matheo’s invisible touch. Thalyth.

Lockless stepped back, stunned.
“Two powers at once…” He murmured to himself.

The heart that hadn’t raced in decades now pounded.

He left the window, walked to the bathroom. Turned on the tap and splashed water on his face, trying to drown the wave of thoughts. He stared at his reflection: deep wrinkles, eyes scarred by battles that never ended. And then he asked himself aloud, voice low, almost afraid of the answer:
“Could he be… the bearer of a future of peace?”

Matheo opened his eyes. The sky was no longer starry but painted with the first golden rays of dawn. The entire night had passed without his noticing.

The pain was still there, spread through his body, but something inside felt steady, solid, even calm. He rose, drew a deep breath, and looked toward the forest before him.

It was time to hunt.

At the top of the newly inaugurated building, the meeting room remained lit even through the dawn. Minister José stared at the long table before him, fingers tapping impatiently. Across from him, Pedro scratched his head, clutching a folder stuffed with reports.

“And the fifteen hundred abducted?” José asked bluntly, voice heavy with exhaustion. “Any news?”

Pedro breathed deep before answering:
“Nothing conclusive. Sending a recon team is nearly impossible… but the Black Light signals collected by the drone are clear. The amount of energy drained and reappearing at the same point can only mean one thing: they’re using humans as a living food source.”

José narrowed his eyes.
“No killings?”

“Exactly,” Pedro confirmed. “It’s the most likely hypothesis. Keeping prisoners is a way for them to feed without hunting. A constant source. For some time, there have been discussions about the Nyrr’s ability to drain Black Light from humans without killing them. But we never knew how, and this is the first time we have clear evidence it’s happening.”

Silence weighed in the room. The thought of humans kept like cattle made José’s stomach churn.

He changed focus.
“And the three level-four warriors? Where are they?”

Pedro cleared his throat.
“Enzo and Lucas are on vacation in Europe. No communication, no return date. But we still have Fernanda Duarte in Brazil.” He flipped through the reports. “She hasn’t appeared officially in some time, but there are records of intense movement in the Amazon. Local sources say she’s been hunting Nyrr alone for two months.

José leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.
“Find Fernanda. By any means. Explain the situation. We need her immediately.”

Pedro nodded.
“Yes, sir. As for the rest, we have over three hundred level-one warriors on standby, fifty level-twos, and ten level-threes. With Fernanda, that adds a level four to the front line.”

José rubbed his chin, silent for a few moments.
“It’s not much, but it’s all we have.”

He lifted his gaze, fixed on the advisor:
“How much time do we have?”

Pedro hesitated.
“Hard to say… an army that size doesn’t move quickly. Maybe weeks… months… perhaps even a year. But we have no concrete data.”

José inhaled deeply, then spoke with firm voice, as if carving the words into the air:
“Never in this country’s history has there been a battle of such magnitude, Pedro. We don’t know how much time we have, and we can’t rescue our citizens from the Nyrr’s grasp without preparation. It would be a devastating blow to our forces and we’d be sentencing them to death. Every bit of preparation will still be too little.”

José lowered his gaze and whispered, almost like a prayer:

I have faith our citizens can endure a little longer.