The next day, as dawn struggled to pierce through the thick fog of ValOmbre, Brann and Gaël made their way deeper into the underground domain of Valérian Ombrelac. The air was colder than the day before, laced with an eerie tension, as if the shadows themselves were holding their breath.
Brann walked in silence, his steady footsteps echoing against the chiseled stone walls. Gaël felt his heart pounding in his chest, a mix of excitement and apprehension twisting in his gut. Today, they were to retrieve the blasphemous artifact.
A shield forged from a shard of Umbra and a bone of a Radiant Beast.
An aberration. A paradox.
Escorted by the same guards as the day before, they entered the Crucible chamber, where the dim light of blackened lanterns barely pushed back the lingering darkness around the basin. The air smelled of soot and old blackness, a residue of the ritual that had taken place.
Valérian was waiting for them.
Draped in a long black coat weighed down by delicate chains with violet gleams, he stood still before them, like a priest of some forgotten cult. His eyes, rimmed with faint purplish reflections, gazed at them with veiled amusement.
To his right, atop a rough stone pedestal, rested the object Brann had requested. But it wasn't a shield.
Gaël frowned. What lay before them looked more like an accessory than a true defensive weapon. The object, hexagonal in shape, seemed sculpted from living obsidian, its sides veined with pale gold that pulsed gently, like the heartbeat of a sleeping creature. Eight dark leather straps, supple as spider legs, encircled it, giving the impression it might latch on, or even coil itself.
Valérian brushed his fingers lightly across the object's surface.
"It is complete."
His voice resonated, soft yet filled with absolute certainty.
Brann stepped forward, his steel gaze weighing heavily on the artifact. His brow furrowed.
"This isn't a shield!" His words cracked through the air, sharp and dry.
Valérian offered an enigmatic smile.
"No, not in the conventional sense." He stroked the object again, his smile widening. "Just because it doesn't look like one… doesn't mean it doesn't serve its purpose."
Gaël exchanged a worried glance with Brann, but the latter remained impassive.
"Explain, Valérian," Brann growled.
The Umbromancien lifted his head, the purplish glints in his eyes shimmering under the flickering lantern light.
"It's not merely a shield. It's a scale, an extension. A defense that evolves with what it consumes. Attach it to yourself. To your arm, to your blade… and feed it."
Brann reached out his hand. The moment his fingers touched the object, a cold shiver climbed up his arm, as if the artifact was breathing beneath his palm. The dark veins on his forearm seemed to react, trembling faintly under his skin.
He drew Fenris, his monstrous blade, and fastened the object near the guard, using the straps to bind it to the steel.
"Feed it?" he asked, a shadow of doubt veiling his voice.
Valérian nodded slowly, his fingers tracing a subtle sign.
"Watch."
With a fluid motion, he summoned a filament of pure Umbra, drawn from the very air around them. The dark energy slid between his fingers, sinuous as a tamed viper. When the Umbra touched the artifact, it vibrated, then… it opened.
A scale of shadow burst forth, unfurling like the wing of a nocturnal predator. Its edges rippled, drinking in the surrounding light.
Gaël instinctively stepped back, breath caught in his throat at the hypnotic strangeness of it.
The shield wasn't rigid. It was a shifting membrane, a living veil that rippled like an inverted flame, pulling the ambient glow into itself.
Brann watched the phenomenon with a guarded expression.
"The Umbra feeds it… but the Radiant bone? What does that do?"
He gestured. The shadows parted for a moment, and Gaël glimpsed a second layer within the shield.
Brann extended his hand. The shadowy membrane shifted aside, revealing at its heart a paler core, where faint luminous threads pulsed softly.
"When an attack comes," Valérian explained, "the Umbra drinks it in. The Radiant bone purifies it. And then… it returns it."
He snapped his fingers. A spark ignited at the core, and a thin beam of light, sharp as a needle, shot forward, striking the stone wall across the room. A glowing circle seared itself into the stone before fading, leaving behind a faint, pale mark.
Brann straightened slightly, his features hardening.
"A defense… and a counterstrike," he murmured.
"A response," Valérian corrected. "This artifact doesn't simply protect. It chooses what deserves to be sent back."
Brann narrowed his eyes, suspicion deepening."It chooses?"
Valérian nodded again, deliberately.
"Yes… but only the purest Lumen." He paused, his fingers brushing along the artifact's golden veins. "That's the subtlety. You'll have to activate it with your Umbra. Aim it toward a luminous attack. It will absorb what it can purify… and disperse what it cannot accept. The beam you just saw? That was residue. A leftover of Lumen I fed it during my tests."
He fell silent for a moment, then added:
"But remember this: anything it doesn't absorb… it's up to you to block. This artifact isn't a wall. It's a filter. An imperfect mirror. I named it the Lumen-Eater."
He locked eyes with Brann before continuing.
"And if it absorbs too much… it will store it. It always keeps a portion. Until it decides to release it."
Brann wrapped his calloused fingers around the handle and let a breeze of Umbra flow from his arm into the artifact.
At once, the shield opened. Its shadows unfurled, spreading like the wings of a night-born chimera, forming a shifting, fluid, hypnotic defense around his blade. He made a slight movement, and the black veil responded, rippling like a living tide, a dark breath rising and falling in rhythm with his own.
"Fascinating," Brann murmured, a cold glint flashing through his steel-gray eyes.
Valérian let out a wry grin, part smile, part warning.
"Fascinating, yes… but unstable."
He folded his arms, his gaze glowing faintly in the dim light.
"This shield has an insatiable hunger. It will devour any Lumen you feed it… but it will always crave more. Feed it too much, and it might turn against you. Feed it too little, and it won't hold."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Gaël clenched his jaw.
"It's a dangerous weapon."
"Like any creation born from paradox," Valérian replied, his satisfied smile deepening.
Brann tightened his grip around the handle, feeling the shield's pulse echo through his veins, a low, intimate vibration. It was a weapon forged for him. An artifact that, like him, lived on the razor's edge between destruction and adaptation.
"We haven't discussed payment," he said at last, his voice ringing like steel drawn across a whetstone. "But something tells me you're not interested in gold."
Valérian Ombrelac chuckled quietly, the sound soft and eerie, like a breeze whispering between gravestones.
"Gold is for people… of the world," he said gently, raising a pale hand. A curl of shadow coiled between his fingers, swirling lazily before fading into nothingness. "What I seek lies elsewhere."
He turned, his slow steps carrying him in a circle around the Crucible. His slender figure, cloaked in black, drifted between pools of dim light and shifting shadows, like an uncertain silhouette hesitating to take shape.
"Recently," he continued, "a group ventured into the Rift."
He stopped, half-turning, the purple gleam of his irises catching the flickering lantern light.
"They were searching for a rare artifact… an object both the Empire of the Sun and the luminic Order are eager to possess."
He locked eyes with Brann, an inscrutable gleam flickering in his gaze.
"Bring it to me."
A chill ran down Gaël's spine. A mission into the Rift. A relic coveted by the two most powerful factions in the known world. He turned to look at Brann, but the man was already still as stone, frozen in perfect stillness. His expression unreadable. His choice already written in the air between them.
Then, slowly, like a key turning in a forgotten lock, something clicked in Gaël's mind.
The Empire of the Sun. The Luminic Order. A recent mission into the Rift.
Kaien Ren. Rai Tsukihara. Their conversation at the inn.
Their words suddenly took on a new meaning. Their mission… overlapped with Valérian's.
A coincidence?
No. The shadows did not deal in chance.
"No one's ventured into the Rift since the first level was overrun by Umbra spawn. I even heard the Archon's officially sealed it off."
Valérian nodded, a thin smile curling his lips.
"And yet… there's still an elevator. Still operational, fragile, but functional."
Brann frowned.
"We're gonna need gear. Lutech lamps. Ropes. And more."
Valérian snapped his fingers, as if sealing an invisible deal.
"Everything you'll need," he promised, his smile widening, half-promise, half-trap. "And as a bonus… Maera will go with you."
The words fell like a blade.
Gaël stiffened at once. He turned, and saw her. Emerging from the shadow of a pillar, leaning against the stone, arms crossed, that predatory smile curling her lips.
Her amber-gold eyes gleamed with amused, feral light.
"A trip into the Rift?" she mused, tapping her chin with a finger, pretending to think. Then she flashed a razor-sharp grin. "Charming."
Gaël clenched his jaw. Seeing her here, hearing her, knowing she'd been added to their team… it meant only one thing: they'd never truly be safe.
She wasn't an ally. She was a free blade, a drifting threat. A dagger inside their ranks, needing constant watching.
Brann, however, didn't flinch. Wordlessly, he sheathed his weapon across his back, casting Valérian a sober glance.
"This artifact exceeds my expectations. Done."
The Umbromancer smiled enigmatically.
"Then you'll be three. A good number."
But Brann, already turned toward the exit, replied without even looking back:
"Gaël's not coming. Too dangerous."
The blow landed as suddenly as it was brutal.
"What?!"
Gaël froze, heart pounding.
"I am coming!"
The words burst out of him. A shout, a visceral revolt born from a refusal to be left behind.
He locked eyes with Brann. A wall. A silent weighing.
'Why is he hesitating? Does he think I'm too weak? Too reckless? Or is he afraid I'll be a burden?'
Brann didn't answer right away. He seemed to be measuring something. Judging. Deciding. Then, his voice almost neutral, tinged with a faint edge of irritation, he nodded and cut him off:
"You'll carry the gear."
A wave of relief flooded Gaël, but he swallowed the smile threatening to rise, unwilling to let his victory show.
He knew what it meant. It wasn't a real role. Just a pretext. A burden given to justify his presence. Brann wasn't acknowledging him yet. Not as an apprentice. Not as a brother.
But he didn't care.
He was going. That's all that mattered.
Without another word, Brann turned and strode toward the exit, his shadow stretching beneath the pale glow of the hanging crystals.
Gaël followed close behind. But as he passed Maera, her voice slid out, soft and sharp, like the brush of a blade across skin.
"Pray you don't slow me down, kid."