II

The dawn broke with a silence that hung over the land like a shroud. Lysandra’s form was a mere shadow against the burgeoning light. She stood with a pack on her shoulder at the precipice of the gravity pocket, The Meadowlands behind her a fading memory. She felt a primal unease as the sounds of Veridian’s gravitational tension filled the air. The low, continuous hum resonated within her. She tried to steady her breath, to calm the fluttering in her chest, but the sporadic deep thrums unsettled. She could not help but feel small, a lone figure against the vastness of a planet that spoke in tones of pressure and density. Touching the emblem on her chest, she stepped forward, the boundary invisible yet as palpable. The transition was almost immediate. Gravity seized her, pressing her to the ground with a force that threatened to extinguish the very breath from her lungs. She fought for air, her limbs heavy as if wrought from iron. Suddenly, the ground beneath her, a tapestry of rock and dust, began to stir. Terror seized her. A sprawling mass of dark, mottled tendrils, each one pulsating with the heavy rhythm of the land, crept toward Lysandra. Its body flat against the ground, almost indistinguishable from the rock and soil it inhabited, save for the occasional glint of its slick, obsidian-like skin. It had no eyes, for it sensed the world through vibrations and minute shifts in gravity. In the presence of prey, the Gravilisk expanded, its tendrils reaching out, seeking to envelop and ultimately assimilate its

quarry into the dense matter of its being. Lysandra’s terror surged, every fiber of her being trembled with fear. Sweat beaded on her brow. Her breaths came in shallow gasps as adrenaline surged through her veins. Her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, her mind consumed by a primal instinct to flee, yet her limbs felt heavy, weighed down by an invisible force. With a sharp blow, the creature recoiled. Its form dissipated into the ground from whence it came. He reached for her, his hands grasping the fabric of her garments, pulling her from the merciless grip of gravity and back to the safety of the lighter pocket. “A Gravilisk. These things prey on weary wanderers at the edges of pockets. You would have been killed. What were you thinking?!” “Kael!” A surge of gratitude washed over her. She beheld the contours of his face, the bulk of his body underneath the G-suit he now donned. “You obviously can’t travel alone.” He helped her up. The sight of her in his mother's old dress, stolen from his home, stirred a surge of emotions within him. It was the dress his mother used to wear to the Temple. “Why didn’t you tell me you were being hunted?” She looked at him. “I guess word travels fast.” “Yes it does.” “You must understand, Kael, that you are not safe with me.” “Is what they say true?” “Perhaps.” He stopped. “What do you mean?” “My husband, Dorian, is a relentless man, Kael. You do not want to meet up with him.” “For Weaver’s sake! Dorian Valenwood?” “And with his tracking and navigation equipment from The Guild, he has every advantage. That's why I have to be cautious.” “You don’t trust me?” As the adrenaline of the moment began to ebb away, Lysandra drew a steadying breath, her trembling hands finding an anchor in the fabric of her

clothing. She willed her racing heart to slow, her mind to clear, and her emotions to retreat into the depths of her being. “Alright then. Come if you will.” “First you have to tell me where you’re headed, and why you’re being hunted,” he sensed his newfound upper hand. She pondered for a long moment. The conflict played out in her eyes, a flicker of hesitation. Finally, she exhaled, the resolve leaving her shoulders as she made her decision. “The Nexus.” “The Nexus?” He couldn’t help but sneer at the notion, but immediately regretted it, seeing her eyes narrow in response. “All things return to The Nexus,” she retorted sharply, a challenge in her voice. “So you are Damaskian,” he questioned. “This is why I did not tell you initially,” she said as she folded her arms. “I’m sorry but... you think it’s a real place?” “It is.” “But I mean beyond your faith? In the tangible world?” “Since when does tangibility determine reality?” “Why are you searching for this Nexus?” He ignored her question. She contemplated for a moment. “I was in a relationship with someone from the dense lands. When we were discovered, Dorian sentenced him to death. I need to find him at The Nexus. That’s all I’m willing to tell you.” A silence broke out between them. “I understand if you don’t wish to help. I know it’s not everyone’s journey to undertake. I will not proselytize you.” He thought for a moment, the slow hum filling the silence. “I can’t let you go alone. You’ll be dead before sunrise. I’ll go.” A slight smile flickered on her face. His did the same. He quickly shook it off as he took off his pack and procured the stolen suit and offered it to her, who smiled in silent gratitude.

The mines breathed—a slow, laborious rhythm that echoed through the tunnels. The jagged walls closed in like the jaws of some ancient beast, yet the miners burrowed deeper. “Watch your footing on that ledge. We don’t need any accidents today.” “Hey, Jorin, think we’ll hit a rich vein today?” “With any luck,” Jorin said offhandedly, deep in thought. Dark shadows loomed over the miners, formed by the single lamp which gave light to the crew’s section. “Keep those drills steady, everyone. We need clean cuts if we want them to be worth anything.” The mining crew operated like a well-oiled machine. Each member played their part in the intricate dance of extraction. Using pickaxes and pneumatic drills, they chipped away at the rocky terrain. “Weaver’s Loom, you could use a shower.” “Yeah, so could you, ya muck.” The sheer force of gravity could cause instability in the rock formations, making them prone to sudden collapses or shifts. Even the slightest miscalculation

or misstep could have catastrophic consequences. “These guys aren’t from around here.” Several men in G-suits and one in the middle of them, decorated with medals of valor, approached. It was a tall man with eyes like ancient stones, chiseled as the cliffs themselves. “You’re Jorin, the miner.” “Could be.” “You ARE Jorin, the miner.” “What do you want?” The man’s gaze swept the dimly lit tunnel. “Information. About a woman.” “And who might that be?” “She left with your friend not long ago.” “Who?” Jorin saw the nametag, Dorian Valenwood, and recognized the Damaskian symbol on his suit. He knew of the extremists’ methods of torture and knew also that they could make him talk. “He didn’t tell me where he was going.” One of the adjutants shifted. “Lies.” Dorian stared at Jorin for a long time. Jorin’s mind conjured up an old quote he had read: I am no hero. I am a man who burrows into the ground, who whispers secrets to ancient stones. What am I to offer? “No. I believe he speaks the truth,” Dorian said, drawing a symbol on the ground—a spiral that vaguely resembled the Damaskian symbol.

Several members of his crew watched from a distance. Jorin’s gaze went from his crew mates to an abandoned mine cart—a relic from better days, its wheels rusted and silent. “You know of this symbol?” Dorian asked. “It’s a cult symbol,” he said, looking down at it. “Blasphemy,” cried the adjutant. Dorian shot a disapproving glance at the adjutant before returning his attention to Jorin. “It’s the Damaskian symbol. We’re the only ones in this patchwork of a world that still strive for equilibrium. Jacquardians and Brocadians claim to seek this balance, yet they were the ones that caused the rift in the first place.” “I am neither. What does this have to do with me?” “This has nothing to do with you. You are but an annoying stop on the road. I am merely checking off the boxes necessary for my full report,” he began to walk away. “What will you do to them?” Dorian turned around. “Lysandra broke our sacred pact. Chaos must not be the new order. She’ll have to repent.” “And my friend?” But Dorian did not answer.

The land stretched before them, a tapestry of relentless gravity. The horizon was a heavy line, burdened by the weight of the sky, and the air pressed down like an unseen ocean. The trees stood stoic, their branches drooping under the oppressive force, leaves like hands weighed down by invisible shackles. They moved through a world where every stone, every blade of grass, seemed forged from iron. Fully equipped with gear now, Lysandra moved with newfound ease. In this land, the sound was a stranger. Their voices were hushed and close, as if afraid to be swallowed by the vastness. The only constant was the deep thrum of the planet itself, a heartbeat of heaviness that resonated in their bones. It was a place not meant for the living. “Just a bit further down this path and we should reach a river. We can rest there.” Lysandra’s exhaustion weighed heavily upon her, leaving her too weary to protest. Her stomach rumbled. “I should have stolen more food from you. I’m starving.” “It’s good you didn’t, lest my father be out here tracking you down.”

“Your father seems like a decent man. I doubt he’d go to such lengths.” “No, he wouldn’t. It was a joke.” “Oh. Was it, now?” Above them, the clouds hung low, gravid with the promise of a storm. The light here was a rare commodity, filtered through a veil of density that turned day into dusk. “Tell me something about The Meadowlands.” “What do you want to hear?” “Anything. I’ve heard the stories but never a firsthand account.” “I’d have to think about it.” “What did you like most about it?” Lysandra’s mind drifted back to memories of a distant past. “In the mornings, the dual suns would cast a beautiful light on the veranda. I would wake to that warm glow, and my aunt Venra and I would share tea and biscuits together. Her beautiful red hair would dance in the wind, each strand catching the light just right. I could watch it all morning, utterly mesmerized. That, I suppose, is what I liked most about it.” “Tea with aunt Venra on the veranda. That sounds nice.” “Yes. It was.” “And now you’ll never go back.” Lysandra’s smile faltered. “Perhaps not.” “Do you miss them?” “Not so much my father. I do miss my mother.” “Why not your father?” “I’d rather not talk about him.” “Why not?” She looked at him in disbelief. “You really don’t keep up with politics, do you?” “I guess not.” “Why not?” “Why should I?” “Well, why shouldn’t you?”

He let out a great sigh. “The way I see it, there’s the rich lightlanders and the poor denselanders. It’s that simple. Nobody in power will change the system that benefits them.” “Well, don’t you think if more of you denselanders engaged in politics, you could collectively shape your own destiny,” she said as she trudged after him. “I don’t think that’s how it works.” “Well, how do you think it works?” He let out another sigh. “I believe the lightlanders craft their own reality to suit their interests, with little to no consideration for us denselanders.” “You know, you don’t have to stay here.” “Don’t be naive. You couldn't handle our lands, and we wouldn't fit in yours.” Lysandra was silent for a moment. “There is truth in what you say, Kael. I recognize that. But embracing a victim mentality will only hinder your progress. You must strive to rise above it.” “Your air of superiority is grating,” he said as he walked on ahead. “Oh, and your pessimism is just so smooth and pleasant to the ear,” Lysandra said, following shortly after him. “Tell me, denselander, where do you expect this mindset to get you?” “Realistic expectations lead to realistic outcomes.” He found himself spouting Jorin’s words. “What does that even mean?” “It means... that if you expect little of the world, it will take little from you.” “But it still takes?” “But it still takes.” “And what do you expect of this journey, Kael?” He studied a track on the ground and traced its origins. “I expect to come back in one piece. By the way, what is your plan if we get there--” “When we get there,” she interjected. “...WHEN we get there, anyway? Are you just going to jump in?” “Kael, I don’t know the specifics of how The Nexus works. All will be

revealed in time. We will go with the flow.” He stared at her for a long moment, a sigh escaping his lips. Without another word, he turned and resumed walking.

As dusk descended upon the rugged landscape, the gentle murmur of flowing water provided a soothing backdrop to their makeshift campsite, the crackling flames of the fire cast dancing shadows against the surrounding wilderness. Above, three of the moons of Veridian illuminated the night sky, their ethereal glow bathing the land in a soft, silver radiance. Lysandra sat cross-legged, her journal cradled in her lap. Kael studied her. “What are you writing?” “I always write.” “About?” “About the day. It’s a journal.” “It was a pretty uneventful day.” “Was it, now?” Sparks dance upwards, mingling with the stars above as he added another log to the crackling blaze. The remains of a small creatures’ bones lay beside him, picked clean and gnawed upon. “Why don’t you wish to speak of your father, Lysandra?”

His words, like stones tested before a crossing, caused her to put down her journal. “Must you?” “I must.” She looked at him before staring into the flames. “My father is a man who sees faith as a means to an end. The Damaskian creed is his ledger. He finds profit, not piety, in it. Dorian is the same way, but with much more fervor. To them, the forces of nature are divine instruments to segregate, to control.” The fire’s glow waned, casting long shadows over their faces. He tossed a twig into the fire, watching it succumb to flame. “These days, everything's up for sale, even people's beliefs.” “The Great Weaver is not a commodity,” she replied, “The Weaver’s Tapestry is vast and intricate, connecting all things. It cannot be bought or sold.” He looked into the fire, his eyes reflecting its dying light. “That’s what makes it the greatest commodity of all. A god that connects everything, that holds the fabric of existence in its hands—that’s something people would pay any price for.” “Faith is not about transactions. It’s about belief, about finding meaning beyond the material. The Great Weaver doesn’t weave for profit; the tapestry exists for us to find our place within it, to understand our part in the grand design.” “Everything has a price. Nothing is sacred.” “Sacredness is not diminished by those who fail to understand its value. The Great Weaver’s Tapestry is not lessened by the greed of men. It is in the moments when we stand in awe of the vastness, when we feel the threads connect us to something greater, that we truly understand its worth.” His mother’s words spouted from Lysandra’s mouth. “And here I thought you weren’t one to preach?” Lysandra scoffed at this and was silent for a moment. “You may not believe in The Great Weaver, Kael, but that doesn’t mean his work is not evident all around us—in the stars above, in the ground beneath, in the very air we breathe. He is not a commodity because He is not owned by anyone; He simply is.” “He may not belong to anyone, but many people claim Him as their own.” “This is not the way of a true Damaskian, Kael. You must understand that.

My father and Dorian are extremists. They’ve taken things too far. Don’t let their actions cloud your perception of me or my community.” “You’re your own person, I wouldn’t align you with anyone else.” Kael stirred the fire. “Everyone has to find a way to cope, I suppose.” She gazed at his silhouette against the backdrop of the dying fire, the flickering flames casting shadows that danced across his frame. His presence, steady and unwavering, provided a strange comfort in the encroaching darkness. “And how do you cope, Kael?” The fire’s flickering tendrils whipped out at him, threatening to ensnare him in their false light. He turned and looked out into the darkness of the night. “I just do.”

In the restless embrace of night, he found himself in the heart of The Iron Cliffs, but it is not the land he knows. The gravity here is a malevolent force, a tyrant that crushes without mercy. The sky roars with a darkness that swallows stars, and the ground beneath him groans, a beast awakened. He tries to move, to

run, but his limbs are leaden, each movement a battle against an unseen foe that grows stronger with his every breath. Around him, the world of Veridian crumbles. The Meadowlands is torn asunder, its inhabitants cast into the abyss. The Nexus is but a void that devours all light, all life.

“Wake up, we have to move.” She shook him awake. Her voice was hushed but firm, her silhouette a dark shape against the cavern’s yawning emptiness. Kael groaned, shifting on the cold rock floor. His body ached from days of uneven sleep, but Lysandra was already up, already packed, already pressing buttons on the outdated compass built into her G-suit. The dim glow of its interface cast eerie green light across her face. “This compass is old, but it says there should be a Strand on the other side of this cavern,” she whispered. Kael ran a hand over his face, trying to shake the weight of sleep. “Lysandra, this suit runs on solar energy. We have to use it sparingly in these caves.” His voice came out harsher than intended, but she only tightened the strap on her

pack in response. Then— “Shh.” Lysandra’s hand shot up, her body going rigid. “I heard something.” Kael exhaled. “It’s just gravity’s whispers. It’s nothing.” “No,” she murmured. “Listen.” They fell silent. At first, it was just the usual hum—the cavern walls adjusting, the slow, imperceptible pull of the planet’s immense gravity shifting the rock around them. But beneath that… something else. A scrape. A dragging sound, like stone sliding against stone. From the direction they had come. Kael tensed. His fingers found the handle of his axe, running over its familiar grooves. Then the cavern exhaled. That was the only way to describe it. The air trembled, a pulse that was neither wind nor movement but something deeper, something that stretched the space around them. The cavern’s walls seemed to stretch and warp, as if the stone itself had briefly forgotten how to hold form. Lysandra staggered back, her breath hitching. “Did you—?” “Yes.” Kael swallowed, gripping his weapon. His vision felt off, as if the edges of reality had been folded for the briefest moment. Ahead of them, something moved. Not a figure, not an animal. The space itself. A shimmer passed over the darkness, like heat rising from stone, but colder. Shapes bent in ways they shouldn’t. Lysandra reached out instinctively, but Kael caught her wrist. “Don’t.” She turned to him, wide-eyed. “I think it’s a gravity rift.” Rifts like these weren’t unheard of in places where the planet’s pull was strongest, where unseen forces twisted reality into knots. Some were stable enough to pass through unharmed. Others… swallowed things whole. The scraping sound grew closer.

A gust of air rushed past them, though the cavern should have been still. Kael gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of the axe in his hand shift unnaturally, as if gravity had hiccupped. Then—a sound, low and deep, like the groan of a distant landslide. But it wasn’t distant. Lysandra’s fingers tightened around his sleeve. The space around them had begun to bend, the walls of the cavern shifting ever so slightly, warping at the edges like ripples in water. The sliver of light ahead—the faint promise of an exit—seemed to move, stretching and contracting in the dark. “Kael,” she breathed, “something’s wrong.” The ground beneath them lurched. Lysandra staggered, barely catching herself. Kael felt it too—a sudden increase in pressure, his knees buckling under an invisible force. His vision wavered, the cavern flickering between oppressive darkness and something else—a strange, shimmering distortion in the air, as though they were looking at the world through cracked glass. Then, a pull. Lysandra gasped as her feet lifted off the ground. For a heartbeat, she hung in the air, arms flailing, her body twisting midair as if caught in an unseen tide. Kael barely had time to react before the force reversed, slamming her back down, sending her sprawling onto the rocky floor. Kael lunged toward her, only to find his movements sluggish, as if the air itself had thickened. He clenched his jaw, pushing forward against the invisible drag, muscles burning. Lysandra groaned, trying to rise, but her limbs felt leaden. The cavern trembled. The shadows deepened, stretching unnaturally long along the walls. Kael forced himself forward, grabbing Lysandra’s wrist just as the air around them cracked—a deep, soundless rupture in space. They had seconds. Gritting his teeth, Kael yanked her forward. The exit was still there, still shifting, moving. If they didn’t make it now, they never would. “Run,” he gasped. They pushed forward against the shifting pull, every step a battle against unseen forces. Lysandra gritted her teeth, lungs burning as she forced herself

through the drag, like wading through water that thickened with every step. Kael kept his grip on her wrist, dragging her when she stumbled. The world behind them was warping, the stone twisting inwards as if being devoured. The force screamed in silence, folding the cavern in on itself. Then—light. With a final heave, they burst out into the open. The moment their feet hit the ground outside, gravity snapped back to normal. The pressure lifted. The silence rang loud in their ears, as if the world itself had been holding its breath. Kael stumbled forward, sucking in gulps of air. Lysandra bent over, hands on her knees, shaking. Then they saw it. A half-mile away, stretching across the horizon, was the Strand, alive with travelers, a microcosm of Agritavian society in motion. There were those ensconced within vehicles, their shapes odd and angular, crafted to withstand the planet’s capricious gravitational whims. Beside them, on foot, were the walkers, their strides measured and deliberate. They were a diverse tapestry of life, some clad in the vibrant garb of The Meadowlands, most in the utilitarian attire of The Iron Cliffs. Among these travelers were the beasts of burden and companionship, creatures both familiar and bizarre. There were the lithe Striders, their long legs dancing across the terrain with a grace that belied their size. And the robust Terradrake, whose hulking forms moved with a ponderous dignity, their backs laden with wares and the dreams of their owners. Lysandra watched with a mix of wonder and wariness. Kael stood beside her, his gaze lingering on the procession of life and commerce. He looked back at the cavern, at the dark maw that had nearly swallowed them whole. The rift was gone. Only the stillness of the cliffs remained, as if nothing had ever been wrong. He looked at Lysandra, who looked back at him. “That was…” She was shaking. “I’ve only read about them. I didn’t know they were so…” He grabbed her hand to steady her, to steady himself. “Yeah…” They stood there for a long while, gazing out at the vast expanse of light

and wonder, trying to recenter themselves. “We’d better get a move on,” he finally spoke, breaking the silence that only the wind held. She only nodded. “Cover your face, lest you are recognized,” he said. “Okay.”

“From navigator to forger.” Dorian paced. “You navigated pre-flight restrictions, isn’t that so?” No response. “Is it not?” “We lost many men in those days.” “No, you lost too many shipments. If it weren’t for that, air travel across zones would still be permitted.” Eamon lowered his head, knowing this to be true.

Dorian procured an old compass from his pocket. “We found this in your pack. Do you still use this old tech?” “It serves me well.” “You know, times have changed. We have new ways of navigating that you wouldn’t believe, new ways of getting information that would astound you.” Eamon had heard rumors of the new interrogation techniques employed by the Guild, of their advances in gravitational manipulation. “The Guild still struggles with radio communication across the pockets, don’t they?” Dorian remembered well his course in Gravitational Communication Engineering. “Redshifting will be overcome some day, just like every obstacle set before us before now. We have yet to master this constant flux of spacetime, but we are not far off. But you know that’s not what I meant.” “That’ll be the day.” He set down the compass. “The girl, Lysandra. Why did she enlist your son’s help?” “The winds of Veridian do not whisper their secrets to me.” An old dictum. “She must have spoken of The Nexus to you.” “The Nexus?” Eamon’s chuckle was dry as dust. “A myth for children and fools.” “And I am neither, and you are no storyteller.” He glared at Eamon, who glared back. “I navigated Veridian when The Guild stood for honor. What do you stand for?” Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “The Guild has not changed. It is the world that has shifted, revealing what was always there. The darkness has now cleared for all to see.” “I see decay. I see rust that gnaws at the bones of this planet. I see you.” “You think I’m part of the problem? I’m trying to rid The Guild of corruption, not add to it. The world’s become so much more complicated since

your time, and you dare to judge me? You’re a relic, Eamon. A fossil. The Guild has no place for sentimentality.” “Is that what you call conscience now?” Dorian couldn’t deny a growing sense of respect for Eamon. And this admiration may have been the only thing keeping Eamon alive. But his patience was thinning. “A system does not just become corrupt overnight, Eamon. If it is so, a large part of the blame has to fall on your generation. The pull of our lineage anchors us; through our children, gravity’s debts are settled.” Eamon’s silence and avoidance of direct answers irked Dorian. “You know, Eamon, I’ve been patient. Following every detour you suggested, every false lead. But it’s clear now,” Dorian said, stepping closer, his tone hardening. “You’ve been leading me astray on purpose, haven’t you?” Eamon’s eyes flickered, a momentary break in his stoic facade. “I knew something was off when we hit the Iron Glaciers,” Dorian continued, his voice like steel. “You never intended to lead me to Kael and Lysandra.” Eamon took a deep breath, his defiance returning. “You think you can intimidate me into compliance? I’d rather mislead you a thousand times over than lead you to them.” Dorian’s face softened for a moment. “I think I knew even sooner than that. Your path towards The Nexus is too far north for the comfort of a lightlander. But it’s no matter. I’m in no rush.” He picked up a small trinket hanging on the wall beside him and examined it. “You know, you could be imprisoned for this?” Eamon met his gaze steadily. “I have done nothing wrong. My son has done nothing wrong.” Dorian chuckled lightly. “It’s funny how malleable the law can be, Eamon.” He sat down the trinket and looked at him. “As I’ve said, I’m not one to bend the laws. I’m trying to reinforce them. But I also have no further use for you.” He turned to his adjutant. “Let him go.” The door to the station was unhatched as a burst of freezing wind blew in, sending chills down Eamon’s spine. The adjutant grabbed him and pulled him towards the door, but Dorian stopped him. Eamon looked at him. “There’s a

Strand about nine or ten miles to the southwest of here. Stay with the wind,” Dorian advised, his tone almost casual. Eamon’s eyes narrowed. “I know,” he retorted, trying to maintain his composure despite the cold. Dorian patted him on the back, a gesture that felt both dismissive and oddly respectful. “You just might make it, old man.”

The Strand unfurled before them like a relentless river of constancy, a path trodden by countless souls seeking the solace of predictable gravity. Winding like an unnatural vein through the body of the land, it appeared as mere ribbons of iridescence, shimmering in the light like ephemeral threads spun from stardust. Yet, upon closer inspection, its true intricacy revealed itself—a lattice of energy pulsating with the rhythm of the planet. They had become part of its flow, their steps synchronized with the pulse of life that moved around them. The suns had arched across the sky, casting long shadows that stretched out like dark fingers across the land. Lysandra watched a handful of travelers who had found respite at a Calibration Station. “I think we

should stop here.” “Why?” Kael asked, glancing around. “This compass is old and the needle has been wavering a lot. We need to make sure it’s calibrated right.” Kael hesitated. “I don’t know about that.” “Why not?” “I don’t know if I trust automation.” “Why would you not trust automation?” Lysandra’s brow furrowed in confusion. “A lot of us don’t trust automation.” “Us?” “Denselanders.” “Don’t you really mean lightlanders?” “No, I mean denselanders.” “No, I mean, don’t you mean a lot of denselanders don’t trust lightlanders.” “No, I mean automation.” Lysandra sighed, her patience wearing thin. “Trust me, Kael, it’ll be fine.” Stepping inside, they were greeted by a hum of activity. Several technicians were attending to the needs of a few travelers seeking to fine-tune their instruments. They approached the central console. Lysandra placed the worn compass upon the designated platform, initiating the recalibration process. The station’s sensors sprang to life, and as they waited, Kael’s eyes scanned the screen above the console displaying detailed information. It explained how the Graviton Compass operated by detecting the subtle variations in gravitational pull across the planet’s surface. It highlighted the sensitive gravimetric array that mapped the surrounding gravitational fields, allowing for precise navigation through areas of varying gravity. “I wish we could trade for a Strider,” Lysandra said as they waited. “What would we trade? We have little of value.” “I know. I just said I wish.” Kael noticed additional information about the density altimeter, which measured the relative ‘thickness’ or density of gravity, a feature crucial for avoiding

or seeking out areas of extreme gravitational pull. “Hey there, pretty lady. Haven't I seen you somewhere before?” a voice drawled from the corner. Startled, Lysandra turned her head to see a man with slicked-back hair and a trench coat casually leaning against a vending machine, tossing a piece of fruit up and down. “Sorry, I don’t think so,” she replied coolly, turning back to Kael. “Can’t this machine go any faster?” Kael glanced at the calibration screen, his impatience mirroring hers. “Just a bit longer,” he muttered, willing the process to speed up. As the sensors gathered data, the screen updated with real-time readings, showing how gravity sensors measured subtle fluctuations in gravitational pull, magnetometers detected anomalies in the magnetic field, and solar intensity monitors accounted for variations in sunlight. The station’s dynamic calibration algorithms processed this information, adjusting the compass settings accordingly. “Nah, I swear I’ve seen you in the papers before,” the man continued, no longer tossing the fruit. “You’re from that one ‘royal’ family, right,” he said, using air quotations. “The Valenwoo--” “Sorry, you must have me confused with someone else,” she nervously interjected, turning back towards the console. “Come on, damned machine.” The interface displayed the current gravity strength, magnetic field intensity, and calibration status of their compass. Kael watched intensely as the station aligned the needle with true north, calibrated the internal sensors for gravity and magnetism, and compensated for any variations in solar intensity. From the corner of her eye, Lysandra watched as the strange man crept towards them, trying to get a better look. “He’s coming this way,” she whispered. “This was a stupid idea,” Kael said, his voice barely a whisper. Finally, the process concluded with a confirmation message on the screen: Calibration Successful. Lysandra quickly unplugged the compass and they rushed towards the exit. “Take care,” the man said behind them. Just as they were about to step outside, an alarm blared, startling both of them. The console screen flashed red with a message: Unauthorized Device

Detected. Please Report to the Nearest Authority. Lysandra looked down at the compass, then at Kael. “Kael, did you steal--” “Shh!” Kael’s heart raced as he quickly realized the gravity of their situation. Technicians began to glance in their direction, curiosity turning to suspicion. Kael grabbed the compass and led Lysandra outside, trying to remain inconspicuous despite the alarm ringing through the station. He glanced back to see if anyone was following, then turned to Lysandra. “We need to move quickly and stay off the main paths.” “Can they track these?” Lysandra asked. Kael, not knowing, tossed it on the ground. “I knew we shouldn’t have gone in there.” “It wasn’t my fault,” she whispered in a panic, “if I had known you had stolen the suits then--” “Oh just shut up. Come on.” They walked quickly as Navigators entered the station and searched the area. Kael turned around briefly and saw the strange man pointing his finger right at them. “They might not bother us in The Barrens. We need to get off the path now.” “We’ll stick out like a sore thumb if we veer off.” “We’re already doing that.” As they stepped through the luminescent barrier, the weight was immediate, almost nauseating. The terrain shifted beneath them, a mosaic of rocks and soil that told a different tale than the smooth surface of the trail. A Guild Navigator drew his service weapon, swiftly adjusting the setting to tracker mode. He input a message in shorthand code: "fugitive." He raised the weapon, taking careful aim at Kael's back. His breathing steady, he locked onto his target and pulled the trigger. A small tracker shot out, embedding itself into Kael's backside. Kael winced at the sudden sting, but the pain was fleeting, barely more than a mosquito bite, so Kael continued on. The Navigator observed, gesturing subtly to catch the attention of another Navigator down the trail with hand signals. The distant Navigator responded in kind, mirroring the gestures to indicate understanding:

How do you propose we proceed? The first Navigator paused, eyes tracking the distant figures as they receded into the distance. Let them go for now. Nowhere to go that direction but the train crossing. Once in range, the Navigators stationed there will get the tracking signal and pursue more serious charges. The distant Navigator nodded. Agreed.

They trudged wearily through the desolate expanse of The Fringe Barrens, the oppressive silence of the landscape enveloping them like a heavy shroud. Each step seemed to echo through the vast emptiness, punctuated only by the distant howl of the wind. In the distance, they spotted the silhouette of an abandoned structure rising against the stark backdrop of The Barrens. Its weathered walls bore the scars of time, and ivy tendrils snaked their way around its crumbling facade. Atop the structure, a six-sided star stood sentinel, its intricate design giving way to a

spiral at its center—the unmistakable symbol of the Damaskians. They approached cautiously, their footsteps echoing hollowly against the barren soil. Pushing open the creaking doors, they stepped into the dim interior of the temple, the musty scent of decay mingling with the stale air. Their eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing the remnants of a once-vibrant faith scattered throughout the sacred space. Crumbling statues of The Great Weaver and other revered Damaskian figures loomed solemnly from their alcoves, their weathered features bearing silent witness to the passage of time. Despite its dilapidated state, there was a sense of solemn grandeur that permeated the space, as if the echoes of prayers long since forgotten lingered within its hallowed halls. A strange creature came from the shadows, its shape a thing unspoken, warped and unknowable. It moved with a sudden violence, an alien grace, and shot through the open window, the air shifting in its wake. The two stood rooted, startled and silent, their breath caught like a thing that might not return. “Who’s there?” A voice weathered by time shattered the stillness of the abandoned Damaskian temple. They turned towards the source of the voice. From the shadows, a frail silhouette emerged, her features obscured by the veil of age. They did not move. The figure’s eyes pierced through the darkness at them. “We mean no harm.” “We seek shelter.” Her gaze lingered on their weary faces. “In these forsaken halls, where faith has long since fled?” The figure stepped further into the dim light, and they could finally discern the features of her weathered face. Lines of wisdom and hardship etched deep furrows across her brow, while her sightless eyes gazed out into the darkness with an unfathomable depth. It was then that they realized the old woman was blind. The hollow sockets a void that seemed to swallow the very essence of her being. “You’ll forgive me, I don’t get many visitors anymore.” There was a hint of sadness in her tone, mingled with a touch of something darker.

“We didn’t mean to bother you. We’ll be on our way.” “No. Stay.” The old woman’s insistence held them in place. “There are many dangers in these lands, but I am not one of them.” The old woman’s voice carried a note of calm authority. “Why are you all the way out here?” “We’re looking for the holy land.” Lysandra’s eyes searched the old woman’s face for any sign of recognition or understanding. In the depths of her sightless gaze, there was a flicker of recognition. The sudden snap of an animal trap shattered the eerie silence like a thunderclap, startling the wanderers. “The Nexus.” She paused for a long time, walking towards the animal trap. “Many have sought The Nexus. But have any succeeded? Has anyone returned to tell the tale?” They shuffled with uncertainty. “We were once the stewards of this temple, we Sisters of Damaskus, entrusted with the sacred task of preserving the teachings of our ancestors and seeking enlightenment in the mysteries of the cosmos.” As she spoke, the old woman’s hands deftly removed the dead animal from the trap, practiced and sure despite her blindness. With a solemn reverence, she cradled the creature in her arms. “But as the years passed and the land began to wither, the Sisters faced a choice. The gravitational shifts, the dying agriculture—the signs of decay were all around us, and the people began to flee from this land in search of greener pastures. The temple fell into disrepair as the faithful dwindled, and the Sisters’ numbers waned. Yet, our faith remained unshakeable. We decided to make a pilgrimage for The Nexus, a quest born of desperation and hope, seeking salvation awaiting us in the heart of the cosmos.” Her fingers traced the contours of the animal trap with a quiet reverence. In her touch, there was a palpable connection to the past—a tangible link to the memories of a time long gone.

“But when the time came to depart, I chose to stay behind. My duty lay here, with the remnants of our faith and the memories of those who came before.” Her sightless gaze drifted to the crumbling walls of the temple. “But the loneliness... It has been a heavy burden to bear. To watch as the world outside faded into oblivion, leaving me behind to tend to the remnants.” A chill swept through the air, causing her to shiver. “Only a few of us remained behind to tend to the temple. One day, a stranger came to our door. He claimed to have been sent by the Sisters. It was much later that I learned the truth. The Sisters who had gone on the pilgrimage had told this man of our location, before they were all slaughtered or sold as slaves. He was the ultimate test from The Great Weaver. A trial by fire that would push me to the brink of despair.” She paused for a long moment. Her nails bit into the flesh of her palms. “He took my eyesight along with the remaining Sisters from me, leaving me alone in darkness, with only the light of truth to guide my way.” She fell silent. The old woman’s hands moved deftly to kindle a fire in the heart of the chamber. Its flickering flames cast a warm glow upon the worn stone walls. “You will not find The Nexus.” She turned to face Kael and Lysandra with a sense of purpose burning bright within her sightless gaze. “But if by some miracle you should, I ask of you a solemn task—a duty that I am unable to fulfill.” She reached into the folds of her robes, producing a small pouch that she cradled in her trembling hands. “These are the ashes of my sisters. They were taken from me by the cruel hand of fate, their spirits lost to the darkness that now surrounds us.” Tears welled in the old woman’s sightless eyes, tracing silent paths down her weathered cheeks. “I ask of you to take these ashes there, to release them into the heart of the cosmos, and to grant my sisters the peace that has long eluded them.” The old woman placed the pouch of ashes into Lysandra’s outstretched hands. Lysandra nodded solemnly and looked at Kael, who mirrored her tender

expression. A silent understanding flowed between the two of them, as well as a deep-seated fear. Lysandra’s grip tightened around the pouch. “We will not rest until they have found peace.”

The room was small and cold, its crumbling walls bathed in the dim silver light of the fractured moons. The air carried a faint musty smell, tinged with the sharpness of old stone. Kael stood near the doorway, arms crossed, his pack slumped at his feet. Lysandra was kneeling by the single cracked window, fiddling with a shard of glass. “That woman…” Kael began, breaking the silence. “Her story doesn’t change anything for you?” Lysandra glanced over her shoulder, her fingers still on the shard. “No.” Her voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. Kael frowned. “Even if The Nexus isn’t real? Even if it’s just—”

“It’s real,” she interrupted, her tone sharp. She set the shard down and stood, brushing dust from her knees. “You don’t have to believe in it, Kael. I’m not asking you to. But you agreed to help me.” He exhaled through his nose, a hint of frustration flickering across his face. “Yeah, I did.” “Then why keep questioning it?” Kael didn’t answer right away. His gaze wandered to the darkened corners of the room, avoiding hers. “Guess I don’t see the point in chasing something that doesn’t—might not exist.” Lysandra stepped closer, her eyes searching his face. “And I don’t see the point in staying still while everything falls apart around me. I’d rather believe in something than let the world grind me down.” Kael opened his mouth to respond, but stopped himself. He turned away, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Believe what you want.” Lysandra let the silence hang between them for a moment before speaking again, her tone softer this time. “I need to change out of this suit.” Kael looked back at her, his brow furrowing slightly. “Can you—” She gestured vaguely. He blinked, realization dawning, and turned around quickly. “Right. Yeah. I’ll just…” He trailed off, facing the wall with exaggerated focus. Behind him, he heard the faint sound of clasps being undone, followed by the rustle of fabric. He clenched his jaw, willing himself to focus on the cracks in the stone in front of him, the faint draft against his skin—anything but the small noises behind him. He turned his head slightly, catching her reflection in a shard of broken glass on the floor. She was down to her bare skin now, her hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders. His gaze lingered for only a moment before he forced it away, heat rising in his cheeks.

“You’re not peeking, are you?” Lysandra’s voice had a teasing edge, but there was an undercurrent of genuine concern. Kael snorted. “Of course not.” “Okay,” she said after a moment. “You can turn around now.” He turned cautiously, his eyes flicking to her. She was in her lighter gear now, her hair loose and falling over her shoulders. She stood near the window, her silhouette framed by the fractured moonlight. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Lysandra broke the silence. “Do you think she was right? About us not finding it?” He met her gaze, his expression softening slightly. “You’re not going to give up, are you?” Lysandra tilted her head, studying him. “What about you? What are you hoping to find out here?” He hesitated. “Just trying to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.” Her lips quirked into a half-smile, but she didn’t press him further. Instead, she turned back to the window, picking up the shard of glass she’d left there. Kael watched her for a moment before speaking. “You should get some rest. We’ve got a long way to go tomorrow.” She nodded, tucking the shard into her pack. “Goodnight, Kael.” “Goodnight,” he replied, his voice low. As Lysandra settled against the wall, Kael remained where he was, watching the faint rise and fall of her shoulders in the moonlight. Eventually, he turned away, sinking to the floor with his back to the wall. He closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily.

“May your equilibrium endure, and may The Nexus cradle your dreams. Until the next convergence of paths, may gravity guide your steps.” - Damaskian farewell