The ashes of the Glass Circle had barely cooled on the cracked soil of the clearing when the new shockwave swept the continent. It wasn't a physical explosion, but a pulse in the Code, an order that reverberated in every registration crystal, every floating sentinel, every mind connected, however tenuously, to the System's network.

  Absolute Purification Protocol.

  Andrel was the first to feel it, even as he tried to mend his own internal runes, shattered by the confrontation with Ilian Meret. His fingers stopped over an unfinished healing seal, his eyes widening in alarm.

  "They... they declared it," he gasped, his voice hoarse from dust and effort. "General hunt. Maximum level. All anomalies. Marked for neutralization."

  Kael, helping Selene stabilize Rukk — whose stone shell still shimmered with echoes of Velro's emotional plague — raised his head abruptly. The weight of those words was palpable. It was no longer a hunt targeted at Lysa or their group. It was a cleansing. A systemic genocide veiled as a decree.

  "All?" Selene whispered, her gaze lost for a moment, perhaps remembering the Silenced in the Rhévar Forest, the other Zeros scattered across the world, the countless beings existing in the gaps, outside the categories.

  Lysa, recovering in silence after the cathartic and exhausting confrontation with Grenda, stood up. Victory over her original tormentor hadn't brought peace, only a cold, heavy clarity. The list was started, but the board had been flipped.

  "We knew this would happen," she said, her voice firm, though her body still protested her injuries. "The System doesn't tolerate what it doesn't control. Grenda was the face of subtle control. Now comes brute force."

  "What do we do?" Kael asked, wiping dried blood from his face with the back of his hand. "Hide? Try to find the Three Echoes? The Living Map?"

  "If we hide, we'll be hunted one by one," Andrel answered, consulting the data fragments he could capture. "The surveillance network is being expanded. Patrols doubled. Cities closing gates to the unregistered. There's no safe refuge for long."

  "The Echoes are our best chance against the Executor," Kael reminded them. "But without the Map..."

  Lysa looked north. Even without a physical map, she felt the faint pulse in the Code, the residual memory of the information Miriya had given her days, weeks, a lifetime ago. There were others like them. Others who broke or were broken.

  "We need strength," Lysa declared. "Allies. If we're going to face the Executor, if we're going to face the Purification, we need everyone who dares stand against the System. Miriya mentioned one more in the deep north."

  "Nox," Andrel completed, accessing the fragmented memory Lysa had shared with him. "Value 67. Deserter soldier. Immune to the System. Deep North."

  "Immune?" Kael frowned. "How is that possible?"

  "Maybe that's why he survived until now," Selene pondered, stroking Rukk's head, who grunted low in response. "The System doesn't see him. Or doesn't understand him."

  "Then that's where we go," Lysa decided. "North. Find Nox. Then, we'll seek the Map, the Echoes. But first, strength. Or there will be no 'then'."

  The decision was made with the speed born of necessity. No time for long debates, nor to fully heal their wounds. They gathered what little they had, covered the tracks of the battle as best they could, and left while the pale morning light still struggled against the heavy clouds.

  The journey to the Deep North was brutal. The Purification Protocol had transformed the continent. The roads, once filled with merchants and travelers, were almost deserted, punctuated only by System Guard patrols — mobile units, heavily armed, with anomaly detectors glowing cold blue. Villages that once offered lodging now locked their doors at dusk, inhabitants peering through cracks with eyes full of fear and suspicion. Paranoia was a contagion faster than any plague.

  They traveled in shadows, along forgotten trails, through fetid swamps and forests where the trees seemed to hold a grudge against the world. Andrel used his last reserves to keep concealment seals active. Kael guided the group with his sharp survival instinct. Selene and Rukk cleared paths where none existed, the stone titan's raw strength overcoming natural obstacles, while Selene's calm presence somehow seemed to soothe the very land they passed through.

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

  Lysa led in silence. Grenda's death hadn't freed her as she imagined. She had crossed off a name, yes, but the list seemed endless, and the shadow of her creator still clung to her. The Trial of Mirrors had strengthened her, given her a new tool, but also left her more aware of the fractures within herself. The Purification outside was a reflection of the internal war she still waged.

  After almost two weeks of exhausting travel, narrowly avoiding patrols and rationing supplies Kael managed to "acquire" from abandoned outposts, they reached the borders of the Deep North. The landscape changed drastically. Forests gave way to windswept plains, covered in intermittent snow and black rocks that cut the horizon like the teeth of a dead beast. The air was cold, biting. The silence, oppressive. It was a land forgotten by the System not for lack of interest, but because it was too inhospitable, too wild. Perfect for a deserter to hide.

  "He must be around here," Andrel murmured, his teeth chattering slightly. "His Value signature... it's strange. It flickers. Disappears. Like the System tries to read him and can't focus. He's close."

  They followed the unstable signature for another day, climbing a low mountain range, until they found what appeared to be an old military fort, half-buried by snow and time. The walls were cracked, the towers crumbled, but there were signs of recent occupation: thin smoke rising from a makeshift chimney, footprints in the snow that weren't just from wild animals.

  Lysa signaled them to stop. "I'll go alone."

  "No way," Kael intervened. "Not after the Circle."

  "If he's immune to the System, he might be immune to other things," Selene pondered. "Maybe he won't react well to a large group."

  "I feel his Code," Lysa said. "There's something familiar. Broken. Like us. But different. I need to approach him first. Stay here. Ready."

  Hesitantly, they agreed. Lysa advanced, Veyla's dagger in hand, senses on high alert. With each step, the sensation of Nox's signature became clearer – a solid Value 67, but one that seemed to vibrate out of sync with the rest of the world.

  The door of what remained of the fort creaked as she pushed it open. The interior was dark, smelling of smoke, old leather, and something metallic, like dried blood. A single fire flickered in the center of a large ruined hall, illuminating the figure seated on a block of stone.

  It was a man. Large, broad shoulders from years of carrying heavy armor. Short dark hair, cut practically, militarily. An unshaven beard shadowed a face marked by scars – a deeper one cut through his left eyebrow and down his cheek. He wore scraps of reinforced leather and furs, but his posture was erect, vigilant. A longsword, functional-looking and worn from use, rested within reach. His eyes, a stormy gray, fixed on Lysa the instant she entered. There was no surprise in them. Only assessment.

  "Took you long enough," he said, his voice deep, rough, like stone being dragged. "Felt your anomalous signature approaching two days ago. Another Aberration crawling from the world's ruins. What do you want?"

  Lysa stopped a few meters away, keeping her guard up. "My name is Lysa. I'm a Renegade."

  "I know what you are," he cut in. "The System screams your name in the nightmares of the faithful. The Zero girl who steals others' Value. The spark that lit the Purification. Did you come to kill me and steal my 67? Or did you come asking for help?"

  "I came to offer an alliance," Lysa replied, direct. "We're gathering those the System wants to erase. Those who can and want to fight against it. Against the Supreme Executor who is coming."

  The man laughed, a dry, joyless sound. "Alliance? Fight the System? Girl, I was the System. Fought for it. Killed for it. Saw the machine from the inside. There's no beating it. There's only surviving on the fringes, like a rat in the snow, until it finds you or forgets you."

  "You survived. You're immune."

  "Immune?" He spat on the ground. "I'm not immune. I'm ignored. The System tried to erase me after I deserted. Tried to mark me, hunt me. But something... failed. My code no longer responds to their commands. They can't read me right, can't track me easily. It's not immunity. It's a different error than yours. I'm a ghost in the machine, not a virus. And ghosts don't lead revolutions. They haunt ruins."

  "The Executor won't ignore you. The Purification won't forget you. They will come for all of us," Lysa insisted.

  "Let them come. I've fought my whole life. Dying fighting is just another day in the Deep North. But joining a band of broken misfits with a suicidal leader? No. Causes are for fools and martyrs. Been both. Won't be again."

  Lysa felt frustration rise, but controlled it. "Then why didn't you kill us when we arrived? Why did you let me enter?"

  Nox's gray eyes assessed her again, deeper this time. He stood, imposing. The Value 67 seemed to pulse with greater intensity for an instant, before flickering and almost disappearing again.

  "Because I sensed something in you. The same thing that made me throw away my oath. Fury. A fury that burns colder than this ice. And because I'm bored." He picked up the longsword from the ground. The blade, though worn, looked deadly in his hands. "Words are wind in the North. I don't trust promises, nor causes. I trust steel. I trust strength."

  He pointed the sword at Lysa.

  "Want me to consider your 'alliance'? Prove it's worthwhile. Fight me. Here. Now. If you, the Anomaly who broke Grenda Malvar, can show me you have more than luck and desperation... maybe I'll listen. If not... well, I'll have an interesting Value 0 to add to my collection of scars."

  Lysa looked at the pointed sword, then at Nox's challenging eyes. She was tired. Hurt. But retreating had never been an option. Here was another fragment of the broken world, another warrior forged in pain. And he understood the only universal language left.

  She drew Veyla's dagger. The black blade seemed to absorb the little light in the room.

  "Accepted," she said.