Vulkan halted.

  The ground was uneven, yet it had lost its natural undutions. The scars of architecture that once compacted it, of traffic that once ground it smooth, remained—yet their purpose was no longer discernible.

  He stood rooted, his gaze level. There was no cover before him, nor anything that required evasion. The emptiness was absolute, rendering all defensive instincts redundant.

  His countenance did not shift. His skin was taut, yet unburdened by tension. The corners of his mouth rested in a natural downturn, as if awaiting a response in a pce that should have held sound, but had long since fallen silent.

  His eyes did not search. For there was nothing here to be found.

  Vulkan lowered his head. The contours remaining on the earth were too fragmented to be called ruins. They had been processed by time and violence, leaving only structure behind.

  His gaze lingered for a fraction of a second. No sigh. No hesitation. Only his breath, which came a beat slower than before.

  He straightened his body. The cloak behind him swayed slightly, then quickly returned to stillness. The ancient weight attached to his side adjusted its position accordingly.

  It did not activate. It did not respond. As if it were still confirming whether this was a pce that required its existence.

  Vulkan’s hand briefly touched it. Not a grip. Merely a confirmation of its presence.

  His face remained calm. But beneath the brow bone, there was a minute contraction— Insufficient to form an expression, yet enough to betray that he was not indifferent.

  He raised his head, looking forward once more. No cities. No traces of life activity. Nothing he had ever built, repaired, or protected.

  Vulkan stood there. He spoke no words. He made no movements.

  And this world, likewise, did the same.

  —Until he lowered his head once more.

  The ancient weight that had walked with him through the Old Night, through furnaces and fmes, was shifted slightly from his side. Not raised high, nor dispyed, but simply moved from its habitual position.

  His fingers adjusted the angle. The movement was precise, devoid of emotion.

  When the object first neared the ground, there was no light, nor sound. Only a small contact area lost its quality of being a "ruin."

  Broken structures were redefined. Residual matter began to respond to an order long forgotten.

  Vulkan did not step back. He watched that single point of change, his face still bearing no expression.

  But this time, he did not withdraw the sacred relic.