King Felix II and Knight-Captain Rhea crawled out of the geological fissure and onto the floor of the Northern Wastelands. The environment was utterly inhospitable: vast, flat plains of dead, cracked earth, covered in a gritty, iron-rich dust.
The moment Felix took a breath of the Wasteland air, his internal system screamed.
[SYSTEM WARNING: FLOW STAGNATION ZONE ENTERED. ABNORMAL ENERGY DENSITY. IMMEDIATE FLOW GENERATION ATTEMPT ABORTED.]
Felix gasped, clutching his chest. He felt an intense, crushing pressure on his solar plexus—the seat of his internal DF reservoir. It was not a magical attack; it was the sheer environmental reality of the Wasteland.
"What is this, Your Majesty?" Rhea demanded, instantly dropping to a defensive crouch, spear raised.
"It's... stillness," Felix choked out, leaning against Rhea. "This place actively rejects the Flow. The air itself is saturated with a naturally occurring energy that cancels out any attempt at Self-Actualized Focus."
He attempted a simple Ritual of Gooning—the mental act of generating and refining Flow energy—and was instantly hit by a blinding wave of magical sickness. His internal DF felt thick, stagnant, and painful, like blood trying to clot in his veins.
[SYSTEM WARNING: FLOW GENERATION ATTEMPT FAILED. DF BACKFLOW DETECTED. DO NOT ATTEMPT FLOW USE.]
The Flow-Stagnation Zone forced Felix to go completely dark. He could not use his armor, his speed, his glamour, or even his healing magic. The greatest weapon of the Aesthetic Imperium was now a liability.
With Felix physically incapacitated by the environmental suppression of his magic, Rhea, the master of logistics and survival, immediately took command.
"This is good, Your Majesty," Rhea stated, helping Felix shed the last pieces of his expensive, Flow-infused clothing. "If it hurts you, it means Evelyn's tracking systems—which are purely Flow-based—will treat this entire zone as an empty dead spot."
She dressed him in the coarse, drab, and completely non-aesthetic survival gear she had smuggled out of the Lunio prison—the ultimate rebellion against the Imperium's fashion laws.
"From now on, we move like a local," Rhea commanded. "We find water by reading the rock formations, not by sensing the Flow's energy signature. We hide in the shadows of the earth, not behind aesthetic shields. This is a journey of De-Focus."
Felix, weakened and reliant on his Knight-Captain, was forced to trust her judgment completely. He, the King of Focus, was now utterly dependent on the non-magical, logistical skills he had once dismissed as "un-aesthetic."
After several agonizing hours of walking, relying on Rhea's non-magical compass and her knowledge of ancient, un-aesthetic star navigation, they spotted a sign of intelligent life.
It wasn't a structure or a signal; it was a carefully constructed arrangement of dull, gray stones, placed in a subtle pattern.
"That's not natural," Rhea said, pointing. "And it's not a Lunio marker; it's too primitive. It's a local sign."
The pattern pointed toward a nearly invisible indentation in the cracked earth. Following the crude map, they found a small, covered watering hole. The water was brackish, but life-sustaining.
[SYSTEM NOTE: NON-FLOW SURVIVAL SKILL ACQUISITION INITIATED. DF DRAIN: STABILIZED.]
They were being watched. Felix felt the familiar prickle of being observed, but his Flow-based senses could not locate the source.
Suddenly, a voice, rough and deep, cut through the silence. The language was guttural, ancient, and completely unknown to Felix.
"You have the mark of the Loud One on your soul," the voice accused. "You reek of the Flow-Curse."
From a crevice in the rocks, three figures emerged. They were tall, lean, and covered head-to-toe in heavy, fur-lined hides and dull iron armor. Their faces were painted with tribal markings that seemed to actively scramble Felix's attempt at aesthetic analysis. These were the Nomad Clans.
The leader of the group, a woman with eyes as sharp as flint, stepped forward, holding a crude, un-aesthetic iron axe.
"You are the Flow-Seeker King," she stated in the common tongue, her voice filled with deep-seated contempt. "Our ancient prophecy says that a Loud One will come to our land and bring the final curse of the Focus-Madness."
"I am Felix II," Felix said, struggling to keep his voice steady despite the internal pain of the stagnant Flow. "I have not come to bring the Flow. I have come to warn you. The Flow is destroying my Imperium, and the true enemy is a vengeful spirit from my dynasty's past."
"Lies!" the Nomad leader spat. "The Flow-Seeker is always lying. We will not be cursed again by your madness!"
Rhea stepped forward, placing herself between the Nomad axe and the King.
"Wait! We have proof of our truth!" Rhea pulled out the scroll of The Original Confession. "This is the documented, un-aesthetic truth of the Original King's crimes! Read it!"
The Nomad leader regarded the document with suspicion. "Paper lies easily, Loud One. We do not trust your Focus-Magic. If you seek our help, you must pass the Trial of Stillness. You must show us that you are willing to abandon the source of your tyranny."