Tycho Crater. Rest Point Alpha.

  Inside the temporary pressurized tent, the environmental controls hummed a steady lullaby: 22°C. 21 kPa partial oxygen.

  Vivian was asleep.

  Leo was awake, calibrating the servo motor in his left shoulder pauldron. The exoskeleton bearing showed a deviation of 0.3 millimeters. To a layman, it was nothing. To an engineer, it was a catastrophe waiting to happen—micro-wear that would amplify exponentially over the coming march, guaranteeing a total system paralysis.

  Hiss. The airlock cycled.

  Footsteps. Heavy. The right heel struck the floorplates with 15% less force than the left—a classic compensatory gait, the ghost of an old meniscus injury.

  Crow.

  Even with four cybernetic limbs, the muscle memory of an Old World mercenary died hard.

  Crow didn't speak. He just jerked his chin toward the exit.

  They walked to the lee of a basalt ridge, hidden from the camp.

  Leo fished a silver disc from his belt and tossed it to the ground. He tapped it with his toe. Hum. A pale blue portable barrier rose, carving out a two-meter sphere of atmosphere against the vacuum and the cold.

  Crow raised an eyebrow. He pulled a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Leo.

  He lit it with a pristine, antique mechanical lighter. The harsh tang of burning tobacco filled the force field instantly, before being silently scrubbed away by the electrostatic grid overhead.

  "That 'thing,'" Crow’s voice rumbled in the small space, "spooked the High Priest. The old man has burrowed into a nuclear bunker two kilometers down. As for the Privy Council... they are hunting him with everything they have."

  Leo lit his own cigarette. The nicotine hit his nerves like a warm blanket.

  "Understandable. When fear exceeds the dopamine threshold, theology yields to the survival instincts of a reptile."

  "Who is he? Why did he come to you?" Crow narrowed his eyes. "And I heard a shuttle from Earth just cut into lunar orbit. Do you know anything?"

  Leo shook his head. He gave Crow the dossier on Dante.

  A neurologist. Philosopher. Poet. Scientist. The backbone of the Prometheus Society’s Lunar Branch. Morrison’s head disciple. His own senior brother. An extreme practitioner of the path of Mechanical Ascension.

  "Will he harm you and Vivian?" Crow stubbed out his cigarette on his metal palm.

  "If you're asking if he'll kill me," Leo took a deep drag, "definitely not. He doesn't think enough of me to kill me. To him, I'm an ant. He came to me only to use this show to announce his Ascension to the solar system. As for his endgame... I don't know."

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  "Good. Listen, Lee." Crow lowered his voice, the gravel grinding. "I’ll say it again. Take the girl and go. Before this spirals out of control. Go to the Asteroid Belt. Go to the Mars colonies. I have a bad feeling. Something massive is coming."

  Leo was silent for a moment. Then he tapped his temple.

  "She won't go. Her logic circuits are locked tight by the word 'Miracle.'"

  Crow fell silent. After a long pause, he sighed. "Fine. Mora wants me to tell you: finish the mission, and the ship is yours. Don't play hero." He shot Leo a cold look. "If you fail, save us the trouble and kill yourself."

  Crow walked away, vanishing into the gray dust. Leo sat alone on the rock.

  Earth hung on the lunar horizon, terrifyingly large. Half of it reflected the brutal sunlight; the other half was a spiderweb of city lights.

  Ten years ago. Morrison's Lab.

  Back then, Dante was a "pitiful" man. A wreck of chronic endocrine disorders and cortisol spikes.

  His only smile came from Selena—that beautiful, fragile patient suffering from multiple sclerosis and systemic neuralgia.

  Leo still remembered that night. The way Dante broke down over the electron microscope.

  "Pain is an evolutionary bug, Leo," Dante had murmured, eyes bloodshot. "It is an inefficient, cruel, and unnecessary alarm system. If the Creator designed nerves just to make humans die screaming, then I have no choice but to rewrite the code for Her."

  For Selena, Dante pushed into the forbidden zones—excising pain receptors, modifying the endocrine system, replacing testosterone with synthetics—until he was branded a heretic and cast out.

  After so many years, Selena must be long dead. And he has thoroughly turned himself into an existence that no longer feels pain. Perhaps one that cannot even die.

  Leo looked down at his right hand.

  The Xeno-Limb Pain flared and faded, a ghost haunting the machine. A warning from the depths of his soul.

  Yes. Dante chose the painless Void. Leo chose this damned, visceral, bloody Pain.

  Because this was no longer just about him. It was about the fool sleeping in the tent, dreaming sacred dreams, ready to save the world with a smile.

  To save her, would I turn myself into a monster too?

  I don't know. Probably not.

  Leo stood to return to the tent.

  A thin man in a Privy Council uniform materialized from the shadows.

  He smiled. A soft, serpentine smile.

  "Russell. Privy Council. We've met a few times. Does Lord Silver Keeper remember?"

  Leo frowned.

  Russell didn't waste words on pleasantries. He flicked his wrist, projecting a hologram. In the corner of the image, a young Leo stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Dante.

  Russell’s voice was soft, almost feminine. "You. That monster. And Lord Morrison. All former members of the Prometheus Society?"

  Leo caught the microscopic twitch of Russell's left orbicularis muscle. "I quit before the Society was designated a heresy. And as far as I know, your former High Priest was also a card-carrying member."

  "I'm not here to debate history, Lee." Russell’s smile didn't reach his eyes. "That monster. We want him."

  "What does that have to do with me?"

  "Cooperate. When he finds you again—and he will—stall him for us."

  "And if I refuse?"

  "Then the 'Silver Keeper' crown falls off. You go back to being a black-market rat in the sewer. We kick you out of the Rite and rot you in a cell."

  Threats. The lowest-efficiency strategy in Game Theory.

  Leo stepped closer. The Xeno-Limb Pain in his right hand began to burn, anchoring him in reality.

  "Get this straight. I am the Silver Keeper, crowned before a billion eyes. I am the Guardian of Her Highness Vivian. I am the shield who stood between three Fire Keepers and a False God. You think you have the weight to threaten me?"

  Russell's expression dropped to absolute zero.

  "As for Dante..." Leo sneered. "As you said, he is not my brother. He is a monster. Whatever grudge exists between him and the Silver Ring... is not my problem."

  Russell turned to leave, tossing a final warning over his shoulder: "We will catch him. With or without you."

  Leo returned to the tent.

  The environmental hum was steady. He sat in the chair, heavy with exhaustion.

  The Xeno-Limb Pain was screaming now, a white-hot spike in a hand that didn't exist.

  But this time, he didn't reach for the painkillers.

  He simply lay down beside Vivian.

  Her body heat radiated through the layers of the sleeping bag. A warm current washed over him.

  He closed his eyes.

  Slowly, the pain receded. Time coagulated into something thick and sweet.

  For now, this is enough.