Unexpectedly, I slept deeply.

Maybe... some things from the past have finally returned to where they truly belong.

I didn't even hear the sharp screams in my ears. No, perhaps I simply didn't care.

Is this what it means to be cold? So, this is who I am.

Oh well, as if I really cared.

I opened my eyes and found a pair of deep blue, worried wolf eyes staring back at me.

"Hey, kid," he said, feigning nonchalance, with a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "How did you sleep?"

"Piqsirpoq?" My throat was dry, making it hard to speak. I had to swallow a few times before I could finish the word.

"He is fine," Qana replied, easing my tension as he handed me a cup with a straw. "Gray's team was brought in to deal with the adamantine fragments in your bodies. Everything else is under control." He pointed to a machine next to the bed. I recognized it as a dialysis machine. "There are still some tiny residues in your blood. It'll take a bit more time to clean them out completely."

After I had drunk enough, Qana placed the cup back on the bedside table.

"Can I see... my brother?" I asked hesitantly.

"He's in the medical pod," Qana explained. "His hand..."

"Can't they use... nanobots?" I immediately thought of the Selection finals--it's tomorrow. Wait... how long have I been asleep?

"No," Qana shook his head and sighed, clearly aware of what I was thinking. "As I mentioned earlier, adamantine interferes with nanobots. If we miss even the tiniest shard lodged in any tissue, it could be extremely dangerous for a psychic."

"Why does..." I probed inwardly, confirming that I wasn't as weak as before. "Why does adamantine have this effect on psychics? I thought the two had a symbiotic relationship?"

"Why else would they make weapons out of adamantine?" Qana gave me a slightly sad smile, and I began to understand something I had never considered before.

Something meant for destruction... something meant for construction...

"Adamantine can interact with sufficiently powerful waves, absorbing energy to trigger certain special effects. But if ungoverned adamantine enters the existence circle, it will absorb the wave before it completes its configuration. In this scenario, the release of waves, the maintenance of the consciousness circle, and even the stability of the existence circle can all be affected." Qana manipulated the terminal as he continued. "So far, there hasn't been a case of so-called 'existence being erased,' so we're not sure if that's truly possible. But at the very least, we know that if adamantine enters the body, it will severely harm a psychic and suppress the wave of consciousness." He seemed to have found what he was looking for, showing me an image of an armored vehicle with its upper half blown off on the terminal screen. "As for adamantine's external properties, they're more straightforward. I think you already know the effects of resonance."

I nodded, glancing at the sword on the Swordmaster's belt. A weapon that hasn't been awakened can already do this much, so with Qana wielding Winter Chill, he's practically a walking, precise, destructive force. I was beginning to truly grasp what Master Willow meant back then.

"Under normal circumstances, only adamantine that is considered part of the existence circle can be infused with one's consciousness. That would make it emit waves with the same pattern as the wielder's, thus interfering with the consciousness circle of other living beings and adhering to the rules of the existence circle." Qana etched two canceling waves into the air. "And the plane that adamantine occupies is the same as the plane of the defense circle, so the two can interact, bypassing the defense circle's repelling properties. As long as enough energy can be attached to the adamantine, even an ordinary person might be able to break through a powerful psychic's defense." He gestured toward my chest. "So, psychic battles are a game of attack and defense across multiple different realms simultaneously."

The terminal on Qana's arm vibrated, and he glanced at it.

"This is a highly complex interaction. I've tried to speed up the explanation, but I'm still falling behind." I could hear the self-reproach in the Swordmaster's tone. But before I could say anything, he continued. "They're bringing Piqsirpoq back now. I thought you might want to spend some time alone with him." Qana stood up and said, "We'll continue later."

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"It's my fault." Before Qana could pull back the curtain, I softly confessed. "I disobeyed your orders... I expanded my consciousness, which is how we got discovered." Shame kept me from looking at Qana directly, so I could only lower my head and stare at the bedsheet. "It's my fault... that these things happened, that Piqsirpoq got hurt."

Qana sighed, his body slightly sagging. He walked back to my side and gently patted me on the head twice.

"That's not how it is." His ears perked up, turning toward the back. "We'll talk later." The Swordmaster said in a comforting tone, then turned and left the room.

The sliding door to the ward remained open as Piqsirpoq was wheeled in.

His eyes were closed, and he didn't move--he might not have woken up yet. At least, outwardly, there were no visible abnormalities, and all the blood and stains had been cleaned off, restoring Piqsirpoq to his pristine white.

It wasn't until he was brought to my side that I noticed the wolf accompanying him--a member of the Gray faction. Feeling a bit awkward, I averted my gaze, trying to remain composed. But I couldn't last more than a few seconds; in the end, curiosity got the better of me, and I sneaked a glance at him.

The Grays are known to be the most aloof, with rumors even suggesting they have no feelings, like cold, unfeeling machines. Of course, I knew this was just a strange stereotype. The Grays I saw in the arena during the Selection showed excitement and other emotions--perhaps a bit more... reserved?

The gray wolf adjusted the needle in Piqsirpoq's arm, ensuring it was correctly connected to the dialysis machine, then came over to check on mine. The entire process was steady and precise, without any extraneous movements. There was no sign of interest in me in his actions. If there was any, it was perfectly masked beneath that expressionless poker face.

After completing his work, he left the room without so much as a hint of body language that could be interpreted.

Well, at least I know which part of the Gray faction I inherited.

Steady hands, a calm mind untouched by subjective emotions, and the ability to make all necessary tough decisions--these traits supposedly define the Grays. Sometimes, they're even less welcomed by the other wolves than the seemingly arrogant Nyxes.

But thinking about it, with the simple-minded Snows, the unrealistic Mottle, the short-tempered Flashes, the nitpicky Woods, and the unremarkable Ashes... it's not like the different factions ever planned on liking each other, right?

Oh well, as if I care... uh...

"Hey," Piqsirpoq had woken up at some point, pulling my attention back. "You look like crap."

"Ha, thanks," I chuckled. "You look like the morning sun on a winter day."

"I know." Piqsirpoq grinned at me.

"Did they say..." I glanced at his bandaged right hand. "...how long it will take?"

"Not before the Selection is over." I could hear the disappointment he tried to hide in his voice.

"I'm sorry..." I didn't know what to say, but I didn't want the silence to fill the space between us. "The Selection must be really important to you..."

"Even now, when I close my eyes, I can still remember the scene of watching the Selection broadcast for the first time," Piqsirpoq interrupted me. "Sometimes, I wonder if it's just a fantasy in my head, because the timing doesn't really add up." He adjusted his posture, closing his eyes again as he continued. "The atmosphere was so lively and full of life, like everyone was immersed in some kind of otherworldly joy."

Piqsirpoq paused, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the steady hum of the dialysis machine.

"But I never actually experienced that... sense of participation." A bitter smile crept across his face. I had never imagined it would be like this, even after he shared his thoughts on the selection with me that day. "The real reason I keep reliving this memory that might not even exist is..." Piqsirpoq clutched his arms tightly, as if trying to hug himself. "...because it's the only time I can still remember their scent."

Seeing him so vulnerable, I had the urge to look away. But I... wanted to do more--I could do more--so I kept listening.

"So, even though I absolutely hate this twisted mess, it feels like I can convince myself that as long as I don't let go, as long as I keep pushing deeper, clinging to anything that might remotely connect, holding on to every faint possibility, I can..." Piqsirpoq tensed up, his body trembling slightly. "...I can... get a little closer to them, relive those feelings I can no longer remember."

After a long silence, Piqsirpoq finally relaxed. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

"Do you think Dad is still alive?" It sounded more like a murmur than a question.

"Impossible." But I answered anyway. "Those people clearly weren't doing something like this for the first time." I didn't want to recall the various clues, but the images still forced their way back. "And the wolves that left the Senate... there are only a few of them."

"I believe he's still alive." Piqsirpoq's tone was so detached that I seriously doubted he even heard what I said, but I didn't interrupt him. "Once this messed-up world finally becomes normal, he'll be able to come back." His whisper was barely audible. "All those senseless taboos."

"But that's impossible..." I mumbled, not knowing why I intended to keep talking. As if it mattered somehow, or could change anything. "The prohibition of interfaction mixing is the only way to ensure that the existing gene pool isn't lost. The population of each faction is already below the minimum viable number..."

Normally, this wouldn't necessarily be a problem, especially given that we live in such a highly stable artificial environment where we don't need to worry about some massive extinction event happening suddenly. But the high-density compressed codes in our genes mean that even a small drift could cause countless precious legacies to vanish forever! This was one of the first things every wolf is taught as soon as they're old enough to understand--the immense responsibility we bear.

"Would it matter?" Piqsirpoq said faintly, his voice unnervingly calm. "Let what belongs to the past disappear." He slowly closed his eyes again, his breathing steady. "The future belongs to those who are willing to envision a new world, not to those who, like echoes, endlessly wander the decaying tombs of the dead."

As if to emphasize his point, the echo of Piqsirpoq's words lingered in the ward, refusing to fade away.

"I will change this world, liberating everyone from these irrational shackles." He didn't speak with the tone of someone making a vow or setting a goal, but rather as if he were simply stating an inevitable fact.

Like ripples spreading out from his words, destined to eventually form a tide powerful enough to alter reality--unavoidable.

"That sounds wonderful," I said softly to Piqsirpoq. "At your coronation, I'll be the first to kneel."

"I thought you'd be long gone by then," he replied, still with his eyes closed, a faint smile playing on his lips. "To the Lunar or somewhere like that."

"I wouldn't mind sticking around a bit longer." I found it easy to imagine that scene. "After all, I do love large social gatherings." Maybe Piqsirpoq would look quite fitting in a purple toga. "And I'd also like... to see Dad with my own eyes."

Piqsirpoq didn't respond further, and I saw tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.

The rest of the time, we didn't say another word. Even after the steady hum of the dialysis machine and the day's accumulated fatigue carried us into a dreamless sleep, I could still clearly hear the warm, familiar resonance in my chest.