VII

They sat in the low glow of the fire, the light crawling over their faces, licking at the dark. The embers crackled, sending up whispers of smoke to vanish in the cold air. The world outside had fallen away. There was only this. The quiet breath between them. The things they could not bring themselves to say. He told her everything. Of the Nomads who saved him. Of Marek’s escape. Of how he had forced Dorian’s hand, how he had made him help, how in the end Dorian had given himself over to the void. He did not tell her of Dorian’s words, of the claim that The Nexus was a lie. He did not tell her of the visions, of the world unraveling in his mind. She told him everything. Of Theron pulling her from the edge. Of the ritual, the Whispering Winds, the training. She did not tell him of the Memorivore, of the memory forever lost to her. She was quiet for a long time. Then—“This is not the Dorian I knew, Kael. How noble his actions were in the end.” Her voice was soft, something sorrowful and distant in it. Kael stared into the fire. Watched the wood crumble, collapse into ash. “It doesn’t take away from what he put you through.” The words came slow, even. Not just for her. For himself too.

Lysandra’s gaze dropped to the fire, as if it might hold the answers she sought. Kael watched her, feeling the weight of their time apart, the words still between them like a wall, fragile and unspoken. “Lysandra, I’ve been searching for you for so long.” She met his eyes, and for a moment, the fire seemed to pulse with the unspoken things between them. Kael watched her face, the play of emotions across it—joy, doubt, a flicker of pain—and he wondered if it would ever be enough, this reunion, this moment stretched too long between the cracks of time. Then he noticed the crest of the Valenwoods, the one sewn at the top of her breastbone, was gone. His eyes lingered on the absence, on the empty space where the stitched emblem had once rested against her skin, its presence once as much a part of her as her own name. He thought of what it meant—that she had torn it away, that she no longer carried the weight of the Valenwoods' legacy upon her chest. He did not ask. He did not need to. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, it’s just all so overwhelming. I thought you were dead.” “I almost was.” Kael’s eyes traced the contours of Lysandra’s face, taking in the subtle shifts that had occurred since he last saw her. The softness that once graced her features had given way to a resolve that was as striking as it was new. Her eyes, once filled with the lightness of The Meadowlands, now held a depth carved by many trials. “You’ve changed.” Lysandra met his gaze, her heart a tumult of relief, sorrow, and an aching tenderness she couldn’t quite name. She watched Kael, his face a canvas of the journey he had endured, the scars etched upon his skin like a map of his own trials. She yearned to share the burden of her choice, the memory she had let slip into the abyss for a moment shared with him. “Do you remember... The Nexustratum... us, catching raindrops on our tongues?”

He searched the depths of her gaze. “What do you mean?” “Kael, that memory... I really need to know if it’s real for you too.” His eyes were steady, his expression sincere. “Sure I do.” But the shadows of the past and the complexity of their journey made it hard for her to discern the truth. “Why the doubt, Lysandra?” “It’s just... after everything that’s happened, it’s hard to trust what’s real.” Kael nodded in understanding. “We’re here now, together. That’s what matters. And once I’ve recovered my strength, we’ll finally be able to continue our journey.” She averted her eyes, a subtle shift in her demeanor that did not escape his notice. “How long have you been here, Lysandra? In The Echoing Expanse?” Kael’s voice was tinged with concern. “Oh, Kael... I… Thank you for guiding me this far, but... I’ve found a sense of peace here.” “What do you mean by that?” “The pursuit of The Nexus no longer drives me. I wonder, deep down, if it was leading me here all along.” “What about our journey?” “The Lorath’eeni have given me a sense of belonging, something I thought I’d lost forever.” “And what about Arin? What about the Damaskian Sisters’ ashes? What about everything we’ve endured?” “Arin... ” Lysandra’s voice trailed off, her eyes clouded with sadness. “You were right. The Nexus is but a dream, Kael. A story we tell ourselves to keep hope alive. But whatever lies beyond its reach will not bring him back.” “We made a promise... You made a promise to that old woman.” Lysandra didn’t deny it.

“What am I to do, Lysandra?” Kael’s voice was tinged with desperation. “I don’t know. Maybe you could join us, Kael. Let Theron guide you.” “I can’t stay here. I’m an outsider, I don’t belong.” “So was I.” “How can you do this to me? After everything we’ve been through...” “I’m not abandoning you, Kael.” Kael took a deep breath, his emotions roiling just beneath the surface. He searched Lysandra’s eyes for any hint of the woman he had known, the companion who had shared his dreams and burdens. “Lysandra, you were the one who always saw the light in the darkness. You were the one who always believed in The Nexus. Now, you’re telling me you’re giving it all up?” She remained silent, her expression a blend of sorrow and determination. Kael felt a pang of frustration, his hands clenching at his sides. “How can you find peace here when there’s so much left undone? Arin’s sacrifice, the Damaskian Sisters, my mother—” He paused. “We can’t just let their memories fade. I can’t let their sacrifices be for nothing.” Lysandra’s eyes softened. “Peace isn’t something you find; it’s something you make. The Lorath’eeni have taught me that. They’ve given me a chance to heal, to build something new out of the ruins of my past.” Kael sighed, and knew peace wasn’t something he could find. And though her demeanor was steady, Lysandra could already feel the edges of her wall of peace peeling away with every word he spoke.

She found herself standing alone in the vastness of The Echoing Expanse, the ground beneath her feet as insubstantial as mist. The air was thick with a sense of foreboding, and the silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant, haunting sound of the Memorivores’ whispers. The sky above churned with ominous clouds, swirling into a vortex that mirrored the maelstrom that had once separated her from Kael. And there he was, staring at her with that unmistakable gaze. He tried to say something but she couldn’t understand. He tried again and urged her to step closer. He whispered in her ear, barely audible. We are the abandoned ones. How could we ever find peace? The ground began to tremble, and gravity turned traitor once more. Lysandra felt herself being pulled towards the sky, her body light as a feather, yet her heart heavy with an unnameable dread. She reached out for something, anything, to anchor her to the world she knew, but her hands grasped only air. Above her, The Nexus appeared, a shimmering portal pulsating with an ethereal light. It beckoned to her, promising answers and solace, yet it remained achingly out of reach. Below, the tribe’s fires dwindled into embers, and Kael’s figure receded into the shadows, his face a mask of betrayal and sorrow. Lysandra called out to him, her voice lost in the roar of the wind. The gravity pocket ensnared her, pulling her further and further away from everything she held dear. Then, without

warning, she was falling, plummeting through the layers of fear and uncertainty. The ground rushed up to meet her, and just before the impact, she jolted awake, her breath ragged, her body drenched in a cold sweat.

She emerged from her tent, the echoes of her nightmare still clinging to her like a second skin. The night was unusually still, the air holding the crisp promise of dawn. She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking comfort in the cool embrace of the night. As she wandered through the slumbering camp, her feet led her to the edge of The Echoing Expanse. There, the ground fell away into a vast chasm that yawned beneath the stars. She peered into the abyss, and for a moment, it seemed as if the stars themselves were rising from the depths, a river of light flowing upwards. The Nexustratum was a light travel copy, bound in leather that was worn at the edges. The night was silent around her, the tribe asleep, and the stars above indifferent witnesses to the solitary figure poised at the edge of the void. Lysandra’s fingers traced the embossed symbol on the cover of the book. With a breath that felt like her first true breath in ages, Lysandra opened the book one last time. The pages fluttered in the weak gravity, the words blurring before her eyes.

She looked down into the chasm, a darkness so profound it seemed to consume the very light. The book slipped from her fingers and into the abyss, its descent slow and almost graceful. She watched as it fell, turning over and over, the pages spreading like the wings of a bird in flight. “The path to enlightenment is often paved with sacrifice.” The voice came from the darkness, startling her. “To let go of that which no longer serves us is to make room for new growth, new understanding.” Adjusting her eyes, she saw Theron standing there. “Did you follow me out here?” “I was concerned when I saw you leave the camp.” Theron’s eyes seemed to flicker in the darkness. He moved closer to her. “The beliefs we hold are like stones in a river—sometimes they guide us, but other times they weigh us down. We must learn to cast aside the burdens of the past.” The gentle breeze whispered secrets of the land. Lysandra hesitated, unsure of where to begin. But as she looked into Theron’s eyes, she felt a sense of calm wash over her. “Theron, I am torn between two paths. Kael seeks The Nexus. But I fear that this quest may lead him to ruin. When you first found me, I sought The Nexus as well. But now I fear that it is nothing more than a fool’s errand.” “And what do your heart and soul tell you, Lysandra?” “I do not know. Part of me longs to stay here. But another part of me feels compelled to accompany Kael on his journey, to see where the path may lead, and fulfill my promise to the Sisters of Damaskus.” He paced for a moment. “I believe you are ready if you wish to go. But I won’t deny that I will miss you, and anxiously await your return.” Theron’s stoic demeanor was momentarily lifted by these words, catching Lysandra off guard. She smiled at him, then dropped her gaze. “Theron… is The Nexus real?” He regarded her for a time, the words hanging in the air like a benediction

or a curse. “A place is a place,” he said at last, “and it is nothing more.”

She began to gather what little she needed, the quiet sound of her movements sharp in the stillness. Then, a faint sound, a whisper almost, caught her ear. She looked toward the window, her gaze meeting the boy Elian’s for the briefest moment before he ducked out of sight. His face vanished as quickly as it had appeared, a flash of dark skin swallowed by shadow. She smiled, the curve of her mouth small, almost imperceptible, as if it were a thing earned in silence and solitude. “It’s alright, Elian, you can come out.” His head popped back up. She repeated this as best she could in Lorath’eeni. He clumsily climbed through the window, which stirred a chuckle out of Lysandra. He stood up and gathered himself, staring at a small tapestry she had been working on ever since her arrival. She motioned him over to her and he cautiously obeyed her motions. “This is my homeland.” She pointed to a spot on the tapestry resembling The Meadowlands. The boy’s fingers grazed the spot. He repeated the word. “Home... land.”

She smiled and moved his hand over to a patch at the bottom. “And this is The Iron Cliffs.” “Iron... Cliffs.” The boy understood from the visuals of the quiltwork what the words represented. He moved his hand on his own to an empty section to the right, at the very end of the quilt, and looked at her for an answer. “I’m not sure yet.” Elian repeated the words, testing them on his tongue. He seemed satisfied with the answer, or at least with her honesty. Then, his attention shifted, his gaze falling on her pack, half-open, a tangle of belongings spilling out. He pointed at it and said something in Lorath’eeni. She didn’t understand the words, not exactly, but their meaning reached her just the same. When are you coming back? She opened her mouth, but no words came. Elian waited, his dark eyes expectant, but as he shifted, Lysandra noticed something—just a glimpse—peeking from beneath his sleeve. A mottled, unnatural darkness spreading across the skin of his forearm. It wasn’t just a bruise. The edges looked wrong, the skin around it slightly swollen, inflamed. Her stomach tightened. She said nothing. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because she didn’t know what it was. Perhaps because, for the first time in weeks, this moment felt normal. So she let it linger, this fragile illusion of quiet understanding, even as something cold and uncertain stirred beneath it. But the moment didn’t follow her. By the time she stepped into Kael’s hut, that quiet had unraveled into something else—something hollow. A chill of worry gripped her spine. The familiar scent of his presence lingered in the air, yet the space felt eerily empty. Her eyes darted around, absorbing the unsettling quiet that hung heavy in the room. The flickering shadows from the lone candle only deepened her anxiety. The disarray of items strewn across the table told a silent story of haste. The uneasy

silence confirmed her fears: Kael had left without her.

The cliffs loomed, monoliths in the dying light, their shadows long and filled with the whispers of the ancients. He could feel the pull of The Nexus, a siren call that tugged at the very marrow of his being. It was a foolish quest, perhaps, but it was his. As night descended, the creatures of the dense lands stirred. His eyes, straining in the dimness, caught the briefest glint of movement. A skittering. A rustling. Then, a presence, as tangible as the weight upon his shoulders. He was not alone. His hand went to the hilt of his makeshift shiv. The creature advanced, and the ground beneath Kael’s feet betrayed him, turning traitor as it softened, a quagmire seeking to claim him for the depths. He fought, every muscle taught with desperation, but the ground was relentless. It pulled at him, a lover’s embrace from which there was no waking. Kael’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his strength waning as the creature’s tendrils wrapped around his limbs, a promise of oblivion. She moved with the grace of one who had danced with gravity and

emerged the victor. She reached him, her hands a blur as they worked to free him from the creature’s grasp. The tendrils recoiled, as if scorched by the very air around her. Kael felt the grip of the soil loosen, and with a final, desperate effort, he surged forward, pulled from the maw of the land by Lysandra’s grasp. They stood then, panting, the creature retreating into the shadows from whence it came. Her eyes met his, a storm of emotions passing between them. “Lysandra... ” He looked up at her, his pride a shattered thing. He saw that she was no longer the castaway from The Meadowlands but a daughter of Veridian in her own right. As soon as they had caught their breath, she pushed him away. “Dammit, Kael. What were you thinking?” her voice was sharp with frustration. “You didn’t have to come after me,” he shot back, a stubborn glint in his eyes. “I can fend for myself.” She scoffed, placing her hands on her hips and glancing around as if to find an audience for the irony. “Have you not learned by now?” she retorted. Kael frowned, confusion clouding his features. “What do you mean?” “You can’t traverse Veridian without respect for its power. After all this time, you still walk around carelessly, as if you have a death wish,” she said, her tone a mix of exasperation and concern. Kael didn't argue. Lysandra turned away, her gaze fixed on the expanse of darkness beyond them. “You helped me when I needed it most. Now I must return the favor. We will find the way together.” Silence settled between them, thick as the shadows pooling at their feet. The wind keened low, a sound like mourning, its icy fingers threading through their hair. In the quiet, she understood with sudden, startling clarity just how much she needed him—and how much he needed her. Kael’s voice was quieter now, almost lost beneath the shifting wind. “Lysandra, you don’t owe me anything.” Lysandra exhaled sharply, a breath caught between frustration and understanding. Then, as if drawn by a force neither of them could name, she closed the space between them. She caught his wrist first, fingers rough and certain, then

moved without thought, pressing against him in an embrace that carried none of the hesitation their words held. She was warm, so impossibly warm, the heat of her breath ghosting across his collar as her arms tightened around him. He didn’t pull away. And then, with a suddenness that was neither impulsive nor calculated, her lips met his. The first light of the moons crept across the land, yet neither of them moved to break their fragile union. Her fingers curled against his shoulder, as if grounding herself, as if afraid of the unraveling that might come after. Finally, she released him. Kael’s pulse hammered in his throat, his thoughts an unreadable tangle. He searched her face, trying to decipher what came next, but she only looked at him with something like acceptance. She swallowed, exhaling as if steadying herself. Then, in a voice softer than the wind, she said, “Come on. We have a long way to go.” Without another word, she turned and started forward. Kael hesitated for just a beat, tasting the ghost of her on his lips, before falling into step behind her. His steps faltered, a sharp sting breaking through the adrenaline that had sustained him thus far. He glanced down at his foot, the dim light revealing a small thorn. He pulled it out and flicked it aside. Nothing could hurt him right now.

They walked on, the land harsh and indifferent underfoot, miles of stone and scrub that stretched toward an uncertain horizon. The world around them seemed vast and empty, the silence a weight upon their backs. But after what felt an eternity, the soil grew softer, the barren stretch of land gave way to something lusher, a muted green creeping through the cracks. The air thickened with the scent of moss and damp soil, and the land, once scorched, began to breathe again. “These ones are safe.” She caressed a cluster of dark, almost black fruits nestled among thorny branches. “What about these?” He stood near a brighter cluster. “They lure you with their vibrancy, but they’re poisonous.” He noticed the way her fingers lingered over the leaves she was inspecting. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus. “Alright, what should I actually be looking for?” “It’s not the brightness of the berry but the depth of its hue that holds the truth.” Her hands deftly picked through the foliage. “Look for the ones with serrated leaves, like this.” She held up a leaf, its edges jagged like a saw. “They’re good for healing, for teas. But avoid the ones with smooth edges and a waxy sheen. They’ll sicken you faster than hunger.” Kael nodded, his eyes tracing the shapes and colors she described, though his foot throbbed beneath him. He winced, the thorn wound calling for his attention. Lysandra caught it. “What is it?” “Nothing,” he said too quickly. It was worse than he thought. She nodded. “Come on. We need to go higher.” She stood up with a handful of berries. “Gravity pulls everything down here, including nutrients.” She pointed upwards. “The plants up there fight harder to live. That struggle makes them stronger, richer. That’s where we’ll find what we need.” As they moved, Kael found his gaze drawn to the way the light caught in her hair, how it shimmered with each measured step, catching like fire against the world. He noticed her newfound movement, steady and assured—like she belonged to this land in a way he never could. “You’ve learned a lot from them, haven’t you?”

She smiled back at him. “They’re good people.” He told himself he was only watching her movements, the way she navigated the uneven terrain with effortless grace—but then his eyes traced the curve of her shoulders, the way her breath rose and fell, steady and sure, and he knew it was more than that. She glanced back at him, catching his gaze before he could look away. Kael cleared his throat, grasping for the first thought that might steer them back to safer ground. “So… uh, what exactly did Theron teach you?” She arched a brow, amused by his sudden interest. “About what?” “You know. The, uh… the gravity stuff,” he said, inwardly cursing himself for how clumsy the words sounded. She huffed a quiet laugh but humored him. “Most people stumble through the pockets blindly, feeling only their effects, but Theron taught me how to hear them.” Kael frowned. “Hear them?” She nodded. “It’s not just in your ears, though. It’s something you feel, almost like a vibration in your bones. If you listen long enough, you start to notice where the harmonies are—safe paths, places where the land won’t betray you.” Kael exhaled slowly, trying to wrap his head around it. “So… you’re saying the land has a rhythm?” “Think of gravity zones like weather.” Her fingers traced swirling patterns in the air. “They shift and change, sometimes without warning, making our journey unpredictable. While weather varies day to day, climate is the pattern we see over time. It’s consistent, predictable in its way. There is a pattern of gravity that weaves through the world. It may not be easy to detect, but it is there. The gravity zones, they’re not random; they have an order, a structure that should lead to The Nexus. That is the path we follow.” Kael ran a hand through his hair. “Right. Makes perfect sense.” Lysandra shook her head, laughing softly. “Liar.” Kael huffed. Her smile lingered, but she didn’t push him further. Instead, she turned forward again, leading the way up the incline. The climb grew steeper, but Lysandra moved with ease, her body attuned

to the rise and fall of the land. Kael, however, felt every inch of the incline like a weight pressing against him. The throbbing in his foot sharpened, each step sending a fresh jolt of pain up his leg. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep pace, unwilling to give in to something as insignificant as a thorn wound. At the crest of the hill, the air was clearer, cooler. The trees stretched taller here, their branches woven into a dense canopy that dappled the ground in shifting patterns of light and shadow. Lysandra crouched by a bush, her fingers deftly sorting through a cluster of dark berries. “These are good,” she murmured, plucking a handful and tossing one into her mouth. Kael knelt beside her, doing his best to ignore the way his foot protested the movement. He reached for the berries she’d pointed out, but before his fingers could close around them, she tensed. “Kael.” Her voice was low, urgent. His hand stilled. “What?” She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she pointed past him, her gaze locked on something in the distance. He followed her line of sight and saw it—a Silverscale deer, standing at the edge of the clearing, its sleek hide shimmering faintly in the fading light. Lysandra moved slowly, her hand reaching for the bow slung across her back. With practiced ease, she drew an arrow, nocking it in a single fluid motion. Kael held his breath as she took aim, exhaling only when she released. The arrow cut through the air, swift and silent. The deer barely had time to flinch before it staggered forward, collapsing into the brush below. Lysandra grinned, exhilaration flashing in her eyes. “I got it!” Without hesitation, she took off down the incline, disappearing into the undergrowth. “Lysandra—wait—” Kael started, but she was already gone. She moved like she belonged to this land. Like she was part of it. Cursing under his breath, he pushed himself upright and started after her, but as soon as he took a step down the slope, his wounded foot faltered beneath him. He lurched forward, the ground rushing up too fast to stop. His knee hit first, then his shoulder, and he tumbled down the incline in a graceless sprawl, finally landing hard on his back. A sharp, searing pain shot through his foot.

For a long moment, he just lay there, staring at the sky, catching his breath. Then, footsteps—Lysandra’s—approaching fast. “Kael!” She dropped to her knees beside him, worry creasing her brow. “Are you alright?” He grimaced, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Yeah. Fine.” Her gaze swept over him, assessing. “You’re not fine.” “I—” He exhaled, knowing there was no use pretending anymore. “It’s my foot.” Her expression shifted, her concern sharpening. “Let me see.” He hesitated, but the way she looked at him—steady, expectant—made arguing pointless. With a sigh, he pulled off his boot. Lysandra’s fingers were gentle as she examined the wound, but even the lightest touch sent another jolt of pain through him. “This is infected,” she murmured, frowning. “You should have told me sooner.” Kael sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Didn’t want to slow us down.” Lysandra shook her head, pulling a strip of cloth from her pack. “Idiot,” she muttered, but there was no real bite in her voice. She glanced up at him then, something softer in her gaze. “Stay still. This is going to hurt.” Before he could reply, she pressed the cloth against his foot, and the world narrowed to a sharp, stinging ache. He clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nose. “We’ll need to clean this properly when we set camp,” she said, tying off the bandage. “You’re lucky it’s not worse.” Kael let out a breath. “Doesn’t feel lucky.” Lysandra smirked, sitting back on her heels. “Well, maybe next time, you’ll listen when your body tells you to stop being stubborn.” With a groan, Kael took her hand and let her pull him up. His foot still throbbed, but as he followed her through the trees, he found he didn’t mind as much. The pain was manageable, at least for now. They had a deer to find, a fire to build, food to cook. He told himself he’d rest properly later. But later came too soon. The cold seeped into his bones, a relentless invader that mocked the heat of

his fever. His breaths were shallow, each one a ragged tear through the silence. The small thorn wound on his foot throbbed with a pain that was both sharp and deep. It was a living thing, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. As he turned on his makeshift bed, a spasm of pain wracked his body, and he retched, the sound harsh and loud in the quiet night. The contents of his stomach spilled onto the soil. Lysandra stirred beside him, her sleep disturbed by the noise. Her eyes, wide and alert, found him in the darkness. Stepping towards him, she noticed the blood. He lay there, caught in the gravity of his own silence, as Lysandra’s hands moved over him, her touch light and sure. “Wait here. It’s okay, I’ll be right back.” She rose, her silhouette a graceful shadow against the backdrop of the land. Kael watched her go. As he lay there, the pain a constant companion, his mind began to drift, unmoored from the present. Memories flooded in, unbidden yet insistent, each one a fragment of a life that seemed both distant and painfully close. He remembered his mother, her laughter once a melody that filled their humble home. His breath hitched as he remembered her final days, telling him that she loved him, that she was proud of the man he was becoming. The memories came in waves, each one crashing over him with the force of a maelstrom. Kael awoke to the dim light of dawn, its pale fingers stretching across the land. The fever had passed, leaving him drained but lucid. His side, a throbbing mass of pain the night before, now lay still beneath a patchwork of poultices and bandages. He exhaled slowly, then turned his head. “Thank you.” Lysandra sat beside him, her hands still stained with the herbs and soil she had worked into his wounds. She nodded, but there was a heaviness in her expression, a sorrow that lingered just beneath the surface. “You went through a terrible ordeal last night.” Kael swallowed, his throat dry. “I dreamt of my mother. She was as real as the stones beneath us, as if time itself had folded, bringing her back to me.” Lysandra studied him in silence, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of his bandages. “The wound was steeped in the flora of the land. Some plants hold the echoes of the world in their sap. They can make the mind wander

through memories, make the past feel like the present.” Kael laid back, his gaze distant. “I held her in my arms. It was as if she had come back to me, just for a moment. I saved her from the storm.” Lysandra’s fingers stilled. “Storm?” He paused, as if reluctant to speak the rest, but the fever had stripped him raw, left him unguarded. “We weren’t prepared. I was still young, barely strong enough to carry firewood, but I remember—” His voice caught. “I remember how the wind howled, how it tore the roof from the old shed. I remember her hands, how cold they were when she shoved me into the root cellar. Told me to stay put, to wait until it was over, that she was going to find my father. But she never came back.” Lysandra’s breath caught, but she said nothing. She let him speak. “I waited for hours. Maybe longer. When I finally climbed out, everything was gone. The house, the shed, the trees near the ridge—flattened like they had never been there at all. I found her in the field, near the stream. She must have been trying to reach the neighbors, to get help. I don’t know how long she had been lying there, how long she had been calling for me before she couldn’t anymore.” His voice wavered. “I held her until the sky cleared.” She hesitated, her frown softening into something sadder. “Kael…” Her voice dipped, gentle but tentative, as if stepping over broken glass. “Earlier, you said she died from GDS.” Kael blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “Why would I tell you that?” Lysandra sat back slightly, searching his expression. “After I told you about Arin. Remember? In the cave?” Kael fell silent. His gaze drifted downward, his mind scrambling for something that wouldn’t come. “Oh.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Did I?” The weight of realization settled over Lysandra, cold and sharp. “You told me that memory was real.” Kael’s hesitation was too slow, too telling. “Lysandra, I—” “Why would you lie to me?”

The silence stretched between them. “Kael?” He exhaled, as if trying to rid himself of something he couldn’t quite name. “Because I wanted it to be true. The way you felt about me after that memory. I wanted that feeling to be real. I wanted you to keep feeling that way about me.” Lysandra turned away, her heart twisting between anger and sorrow. She closed her eyes, willing herself to steady, but the betrayal sat too close, too raw. “Please don’t hate me, Lysandra.” His voice was quiet, almost pleading. She remained still, back turned, her body rigid with tension. The words left her mouth before she could stop them. “You’ve been nothing but a burden to me almost every step of the way.” Regret hit her instantly, but it was too late. She had already seen the way he flinched, how his jaw tensed, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I didn’t—” “No.” His voice was quiet, resigned. “You’re right.”

Though gravity had begun to soften, Kael’s steps grew leaden. What had once been resentment in Lysandra’s eyes had turned swiftly to pity—an unbearable softness that gnawed at him, mocking him in the silence of their march. His legs wavered beneath him, and when he stumbled, she reached for him but wasn’t fast enough. He hit the ground hard. Her hands found him then, steady and sure, but as she held him up, something cold settled in his chest. The certainty of his fate. It was there, woven into his marrow, as if the world itself had whispered it into him. “I can’t help but wonder,” he said, voice raw, “why someone like Dorian deserves such a noble death when I have to die like this.” “You’re not going to die.” “Just leave me, Lys.” “We’re almost there,” she insisted, adjusting her grip on him. “Just a little further—I know it.” He let out a breath, almost a laugh. “I don’t even care about The Nexus anymore. Let’s just go back to the Lorath’eeni.” “Nonsense. We’ve made it this far. We’re not stopping now.” Kael exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You said it yourself, Lys. The Nexus is a journey, not a place. We’ve had our journey.” She said nothing. But he could see it in her eyes—that quiet, terrible truth. A hollow laugh left his lips. “Veridian. Funny name for this place.” Lysandra knelt beside him, her hands gentle as she braced his weary body. She unfurled a large tapestry blanket, spreading it across the uneven ground before adjusting him onto it. Then, gripping the fabric, she began to drag him forward. “I’m sorry, Lys.” Her arms trembled with the effort, but she did not falter. He watched as a single tear traced a glistening path down Lysandra’s cheek. As it fell, the tear met the soil—a brief touch, a fleeting kiss—and then it was gone, absorbed into the soil that had become both their burden and their refuge. The soil drank the tear

greedily, as if such offerings were rare in this land. She dragged his body over the terrain, her muscles screaming in protest. Her breath came in ragged gasps, yet she moved with a singular purpose. The silver glow of the moons bathed the meadows in a serene light, but it did little to dispel the confusion that clouded Lysandra’s mind, a cacophony of discordant notes, leading her in circles. Exhausted and disheartened, she succumbed to the embrace of the soft, feather-like grass, allowing the whispers of the meadows to lull her into a restless slumber. She awoke to the sound of hooves, a rhythmic thumping that seemed out of place in the quietude of the land. Squinting against the light of dawn, Lysandra saw an old woman, her eyes sunken and surrounded by dark shadows. Her face, once perhaps serene, was now marred by red, inflamed patches stretched across her cheeks and neck, with areas of darkened, necrotic tissue that spoke of pain and decay. Her hands, gripping the reins of the majestic creature she rode, were similarly afflicted. The skin was mottled and discolored, some fingers wrapped in makeshift bandages. Despite the visible agony, she held herself with a certain dignity. Across the creature's back, draped like a bundle, lay a small, lifeless figure. Lysandra’s heart tightened in her chest. She knew it was a child. A sharp pang of empathy gripped her, fleeting and raw. Without a word, the old woman dismounted, removed some gear from her satchel, and connected Kael’s makeshift gurney to her creature. Then she remounted and the creature began to move. Lysandra rose, her body stiff, and fell into step behind the old woman, keeping her distance. The woman’s pace was deliberate, slow enough for Lysandra to follow without effort, though the space between them stretched, unspoken and wide. Together, yet apart, they drifted through the silent world, the distance between them a quiet, unbroken thing. Lysandra’s gaze lingered on the old woman’s retreating form as some distance grew between them, the gentle undulations of the land swallowing her silhouette. This woman seemed to know the path. She pressed on, her steps buoyant yet uncertain, as the landscape around her blurred. Time passed, or

perhaps it stood still—Lysandra could not tell. The old woman had vanished, a ghost in the dance of lighter lands. Doubt crept into Lysandra’s mind, a creeping vine threatening to ensnare her resolve. Have I been led astray? As if pulled from the grip of a dream, Lysandra found herself at the far side of the meandering expanse. The world there was thick with silence, save for a distant, steady thumping that seemed to pulse in time with the heavy air. She squinted against the harsh light, eyes straining, trying to piece together the sight before her. At first, it was a blur, a writhing mass of shadow moving in the haze, a sickly green that hung like fog. But as her vision sharpened, the shapes resolved, grotesque and unnatural, their forms twisting into something too awful to name. The ground was littered with withered vegetation, blackened and twisted as if scorched by some unseen force. Pools of stagnant, oily water dotted the terrain, reflecting the sickly green glow emanating from the heart of the area. Each step she took was accompanied by the crunch of brittle, dead plant matter underfoot. Then she noticed them—bodies, dozens of them, floating aimlessly in the sky, preserved in a haunting state of stasis, their limbs and faces frozen in their final moments of life. Some collided gently with one another, creating a macabre dance of the dead, while others drifted toward the edges of the zone, eventually falling and piling up to form towering compost mounds of decayed flesh and bone. The air was heavy with a foul stench, a mix of rot and chemicals that burned her nostrils and made her eyes water. Her heart pounded, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin as the full horror of what she was witnessing sank in.

The realization hit her slowly but powerfully. The sight of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of bodies floating and colliding in the center of the zone was overwhelming. She could almost hear the whispers of the souls trapped in this grotesque limbo. Every instinct urged her to flee, to turn back and escape this hellish place. But she knew she couldn’t. With each step closer, the reality of the situation became more harrowing. Her senses were overwhelmed by the sight and smell of decay. She could hear the low, mournful wails of the wind as it swept through the desolate landscape, carrying with it the faint cries of despair from the floating bodies. She spotted a pilgrimager at the edge, their face gaunt and eyes hollow. The figure struggled to carry a wrapped bundle towards the floating graveyard. With a solemn reverence, they released their burden into the void, the small, lifeless body joining the ghastly dance of the dead. The closer Lysandra got, the more she noticed the extent of the decay on the pilgrims drawn to this cursed place. Their skin was mottled and diseased, bearing the scars of prolonged exposure to the biohazardous environment. The stench of rot was almost unbearable, and she had to fight the urge to retch. She saw the compost piles at the edges of the zone. Bodies of people and animals alike, entangled and decaying, formed grotesque mounds that rose from the ground. A group of people labored amid the carnage, their bodies stooped and grim, shoveling the dead back into the zone. The task seemed endless, a cycle of horror that seemed to stretch beyond the horizon, as if the land itself had given birth to this abomination, and it would never cease. She could see the signs of

sickness in their gaunt faces and shuffling movements. The realization of the scale of the horror she faced settled in her mind. The old woman stood at the edge in the distance, her figure small against the vastness of the scene. The creature beneath her seemed to understand the sanctity of the zone, its movements deliberate, reverent, each step slow and measured as though it too recognized the weight of what lay ahead. Lysandra approached, her eyes wide, caught between repulsion and wonder. She watched the old woman, whose grace was a stark contrast to the heaviness of the land. The woman moved with an assuredness that defied her years, her steps steady and sure upon the uneven ground that sloped toward the precipice, leading into the yawning abyss of the unknown. The child, lifeless yet serene, lay cradled in the arms of the beast that had borne them both to this final threshold. The creature bowed its great head. With hands that trembled not from age but from the weight of release, the old woman began her ritual. She spoke words that seemed to weave through the air, a litany of loss and love that resonated with the very fabric of The Nexus. They were for the child, for the universe, for the very essence of the gravity that had once bound them to life. The woman lifted the child. There was a pause, a breath, a heartbeat of hesitation. And then, with a grace that spoke of acceptance and the unyielding passage of time, she let go. The child’s form drifted, caught in the gentle embrace of zero gravity. The old woman’s face turned skyward, a canvas of peace and pain. Lysandra’s breath caught in her throat as the small, lifeless body was

swallowed by the shifting mass, joining the haunting dance of the others. As a tear traced its path down her cheek, she reached into her pack and withdrew the pouch of The Damaskian Sisters’ ashes, her fingers trembling as they closed around it. Standing at the edge of the zone, the pouch of ashes felt like a weight too heavy to bear, a fragile offering in the face of such desolation. The act of spreading the ashes seemed absurd, impotent here amidst this macabre wasteland. The thought of her loved ones, of Arin, of Kael, joining the ranks of the suspended dead was an unbearable wound, and she felt revulsion and sorrow rise up in her, crashing over her like a cold, relentless tide. The old woman approached Lysandra, her steps soft and barely a whisper

against the ground. With gentle gestures, the old woman pointed towards the zone,

then back to Lysandra, and finally to her own heart. She drew a circle in the air,

encompassing the surrounding land, and placed her hand over her chest again. Her

expression softened as she mimed the act of holding someone close, then letting

them go.

Lysandra's initial sense of connection wavered, replaced by a growing

unease. The old woman's silent message felt like the ramblings of a mind unhinged

by despair. Her gestures, meant to convey solace and understanding, seemed more

like the desperate attempts of someone clinging to fragments of sanity. She felt a

wave of self-reproach wash over her as the old woman walked past her. Her cheeks

burned with shame as she recalled the countless hours spent in prayer and devotion,

the fervent belief that The Nexus was a portal to a better place.

Lysandra turned at the sound of footsteps, her heart leaping into her

throat. Two figures, their faces hollow with fatigue, their movements robotic, as

though they had long since given up any notion of choice, approached Kael, his

body limp and barely conscious in their grasp. The first man, broad and gaunt,

gripped Kael under the arms, while the woman at his side, slight but strong,

clutched his legs. Their eyes met for a brief, flickering moment—no pity, no

remorse—before they stepped forward, dragging Kael towards the edge of the zone.

Lysandra’s breath hitched in her chest, and without thinking, she charged

forward. Her voice, raw and sharp with fear, cracked in the oppressive silence. “No!

Stop!”

They moved as though they had done this countless times before, the end

of Kael’s life no more significant than the bodies they had cast into the void before.

Lysandra reached them just as the woman released her grip, letting Kael's body slip

from her hands. Kael’s half-conscious eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment,

he seemed to meet Lysandra’s gaze. Her pulse quickened, her heart pounding in her

ears, but it was too late. The bodies in the zone shifted and swirled in the

zero-gravity, and with a sickening lurch, Kael’s body was swallowed up by the

current.

Lysandra stood frozen, her hands trembling at her sides, unable to speak,

unable to move. The man and woman turned away without a word. She saw the

blur of his body, swallowed whole by the endless void, and in that instant the world

broke open. Without thought, she leapt, her feet unmoored from the ground as the

pull of The Nexus dragged her in, the cold, unrelenting grasp of nothingness

pulling her down, pulling her apart. She reached for him, her arms outstretched,

and with a cry that was swallowed by the vastness, she caught him. Her fingers

clutched at the dead weight of him, the disjointed dance of their bodies carried by

the infinite spin of the void. The world around them spun, a dizzying blur of faces

and fragments, and they spiraled together, caught in the cruel choreography of the

cosmos. She held him tight, her chest pressed against his. She gasped, but there was

no breath to draw, no life to take. Her lungs burned, her chest seized as the

suffocating emptiness filled her, the panic rising like fire in her throat. She held him

tighter, her body instinctively seeking the solace of his, but the pressure of the

nothingness pushed against them, grinding them down into the infinite whirl. Her

heart thundered, weak with the pull of death.

It was a slow descent until their forms came to rest upon a small mound. The mound was a soft hillock composed of those who had journeyed before them. The bodies lay intertwined, a macabre garden of carcasses. Creatures, both familiar and alien to the eyes of the living, congregated with a patient reverence. They

awaited the arrival of the newly departed, their presence not one of malice but of purpose. The air was thick with the scent of decay, but amidst it, something strange stirred. A subtle pressure, a force unseen. They fed upon the remains, not in a frenzy, but with a gentle efficiency that spoke of the natural order. In their care, the bodies would return to the universe, their essence fueling the life that thrived in this liminal space. Strange plants delved their roots into the soft flesh. Their petals unfurled with a slow, deliberate motion. They grew through and around the bodies, a symbiotic embrace that transformed the stillness of death into a canvas of vibrant life. Insects and worms, the architects of decomposition, wove their way through the remains. They created a labyrinth of life within the lifeless, their movements a dance of creation and destruction. These creatures used the bodies as their homes, their nurseries, their sustenance. They were the unseen caretakers, ensuring that even in death, the cycle continued. Then, it came—like a soft wave washing over her. A trembling breath filled her lungs, shallow at first, but it was enough. She stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. The air felt dense, the gravity of the place pressing her chest in a way she had never known. She blinked against the strange light, the weight of the moment pulling her deeper into the unfathomable quiet. She felt the soft, familiar pressure of Kael's body beside her. Not dead, not alive—somewhere in between.

She moved along the worn-down Strand, eyes sharp, her gaze cutting through the unnatural ripples in the air, the distortions in the ground that spoke of forces older than the ground itself. The past weeks had been hard on her, no different than before. The land stretched out before her, silent and still, but it was a silence that begged for rupture. She had learned, over the years, that nothing here could be trusted—least of all the calm. The soil, the sky, the wind, they could all turn at a moment’s notice. And so she did not relax her watch, nor let her mind wander. The quiet was not her ally. The quiet was a trap. As she stored her canteen, her eyes were drawn to a figure ahead, stumbling along the trail, dragging another behind her. The figure moved with an uneven, unsteady rhythm, as if her body was no longer fully aligned with the will to carry her forward. Her gait was sluggish, lost in a haze of exhaustion. The traveler maneuvered closer, her focus sharpening as she took in the figure’s condition. Even from this distance, the signs were undeniable—emaciated form, drawn tight with the strain of illness, each step a struggle. The air around her seemed to tremble with her weariness, and something about her presence, a faint but unmistakable aura of decay, set her instincts on edge. The traveler drew nearer, her gaze fixed on the collapsing figure. With a final, trembling effort, the straggler let the body she’d been dragging slip from her grasp, its lifeless form landing with a muted, heavy thud. She crumpled to the ground beside it, limbs splayed in surrender. For a long moment, there was only the rasp of her breath, shallow and strained. Then, with a will summoned from some dwindling reserve, the straggler lifted her head. Her hollow eyes, wide and desperate, met the traveler’s—pleading, wordless, filled with a silent cry that pierced through the stillness like a knife. “Help... please,” the straggler rasped, her voice barely audible. The traveler’s chest clenched at the sight, though her face remained an unyielding mask.

“You have to get him… to a healer.” She took in the woman’s ravaged arm, flesh discolored and broken by creeping decay. She knelt beside them, her shadow stretching long in the failing light. “Stay with me,” she said, her voice low and steady, a command tempered by something almost tender. “You’re safe now, I’ll get you some help,” she said, as if willing the world to reshape itself around her words.

“In the quiet embrace of oblivion, the departed find solace, for in death, memory fades and the burdens of the living are lifted. It is not a curse but a release, a return to the cosmic embrace from which all life springs.” - From “Reflections on Existence and Beyond” By Seraphina Nethra