By morning, the base had transformed into a machine.
Not the chaotic, reactive machine it had been in the early days of survival—but something organized. Intentional.
Xavier stood in the central courtyard beneath the Awakener Association's iron-framed notice board, arms crossed, expression carved from command.
Around him gathered team captains—fire users, wind manipulators, sensory types, brute-strength enhancers. Dusty boots. Scarred hands. Focused eyes.
"We're not hunting elites," Xavier said evenly. "We're not prioritizing cores with rank."
A murmur ran through the crowd.
Captain Rhea, a spear-wielding lightning awakener, frowned. "Then what are we collecting?"
"Level zero crystals," Xavier replied.
The murmur turned confused.
"Zero?" someone repeated. "Those are junk."
"They're unstable," another added. "Not worth storage space."
Xavier's gaze hardened slightly.
"They're worth something now."
That quieted them.
