The Watcher

The world came rushing back in a jarring wave of sensation. Coren stumbled slightly, her legs weak beneath her as her hand instinctively reached out to steady herself against the rocky surface of the mountain. Lyra wasn't much better, blinking rapidly as though trying to shake off the disorientation.

They had exited the fiery mental space, but their minds were far from clear. If anything, they felt even more confused than before.

"What the hell just happened?" Coren muttered, brushing a strand of damp hair from her forehead. She looked to Lyra, but her mentor was staring at the ground, her brow furrowed in deep thought.

"That… thing," Lyra finally said, her voice low and tense, "wasn't just some prisoner. He knew us. He knew him. And this… Chosen One nonsense…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "It doesn't make any sense."

Coren glanced at Sol and Lex, both of whom had re-emerged from their respective reactors, their glows muted and dim. Neither Companion said a word. Lex, usually sharp-tongued and brimming with sarcasm, floated silently in the background, his light flickering faintly as though it might go out entirely.

Sol hovered closer to Coren, but his presence, normally a source of calm and stability, now felt hollow. He didn't speak or even meet her gaze, and Coren's frustration began to boil over.

"Are you two just going to sulk forever?" she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. "We need answers! What was he talking about?"

Lex flickered once but didn't reply. Sol, too, remained silent, his glow dimming further.

Lyra let out a frustrated sigh. "They're not going to talk," she said flatly. "Not point rehashing old argument." She straightened, brushing the dust from her knees and glancing around their surroundings. "We should set up camp. We have nowhere else to go, and we need time to decompress… and try to make sense of all this."

Coren hesitated, her hands tightening into fists. Part of her wanted to keep pressing for answers, but Lyra was right. They weren't going to get anything out of the Companions tonight, and the exhaustion—both physical and mental—was beginning to wear her down.

"Fine," Coren said, forcing her voice to steady. "Let's set up camp."

The process was slow and frustrating. All of their equipment was back at the dig site or forward base and the basic survival gear they carried felt woefully inadequate. Their makeshift camp consisted of a small, collapsible shelter, a portable heater, and a few ration packs that tasted as bland as they looked.

Coren crouched by the heater, fiddling with its controls until it sputtered to life, casting a faint orange glow over their camp. Lyra sat nearby, her Holopad in her lap, but she wasn't reading or taking notes. She stared at the blank screen, her expression distant.

"Lyra," Coren said after a while, breaking the silence. "Do you think we're in over our heads?"

Lyra didn't answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. "I think… we're dealing with something much bigger than we realized. Bigger than the Association. Maybe bigger than humanity itself."

Coren felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air.

She looked around the camp, the dense forest surrounding them shrouded in darkness. Occasionally, she caught glimpses of the animals that had accompanied them earlier—glowing eyes peeking out from between the trees, watching them silently.

"They're still here," Coren murmured, nodding toward the shadows.

Lyra glanced up, following her gaze. "I don't think they're leaving anytime soon," she said. "They're… keeping watch."

Coren wasn't sure if that was comforting or unnerving.

She tossed another small log into the small fire she had created. The flame crackled faintly as it licked at the wood. The warmth helped, but it did little to ease the tension that hung between them.

"We should go over everything," Lyra said, breaking the silence. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Everything we've learned. Maybe… maybe if we put it all together, we'll start to see the bigger picture."

Coren nodded, though she wasn't sure where to start. "The prisoner," she said after a moment. "He said humanity should be rulers of the galaxy. That we're 'masters of the Fields.' And he called the Empress a false prophet."

Lyra frowned, her fingers drumming against her knee. "He didn't just call her a false prophet. He hated her. Enough to orchestrate her assassination. But why? What was she standing in the way of?"

Coren shook her head, her voice taut with frustration. "And what about the Reaper? Why does he keep showing up in all of this? Who was he, really?"

The question hung in the air like an unanswered riddle, tension crackling between them. Lyra opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn't come. Instead, she sighed and reached into her jacket, pulling out her Seraflute.

"I don't know," she admitted softly, her green eyes flickering with weariness. "But overthinking it won't help."

Taking the cue, Coren retrieved her Serakey, the instrument's smooth, metallic surface cool against her fingers. Since discovering the link between music and the fields they had both taken to practicing music. She tapped a few locations experimentally, the warm, resonant tones drifting into the cool night air. Lyra joined in, the soft, lilting notes of her Seraflute weaving through Coren's melody like a whisper.

The music filled the camp, mingling with the crackle of the fire and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. The Wolfiger, sprawled near the edge of the clearing, tilted its head, its ears twitching in time with the music. The faint hum of the Fields seemed to resonate with the sounds, each note rippling outward like a pebble dropped into a still pond.

Before the tension could fully ease, the faint sound of footfalls echoed through the clearing. Coren's fingers stilled on the strings, and Lyra's flute fell silent as they both turned toward the sound. Their hands instinctively moved toward their gauntlets, the air thickening with a wary anticipation.

The Wolfiger, which had been lying with its eyes half-closed, suddenly lifted its head. Its glowing amber gaze locked onto the source of the noise, but instead of growling, it let out a low, rumbling sound that almost seemed… affectionate.

Coren's grip on her gauntlet loosened slightly, her pulse still racing as she exchanged a glance with Lyra. The tension in the camp shifted, replaced by a new kind of curiosity as the footfalls grew closer.

Coren turned her gaze toward the source of the sound, her heart pounding.

An old man emerged from the shadows, leaning heavily on a crooked wooden walking stick. His clothes were simple—a tattered brown cloak and worn boots—and his face was lined with deep wrinkles, but his eyes… his eyes were sharp, gleaming with an intelligence that felt ageless.

The animals in the forest began to stir, emerging from the darkness and gathering around the old man as though drawn to him. The Wolfiger rose to its feet, trotting over to him and nuzzling his side with a low purr.

Coren exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Lyra. "Who…?"

The old man offered a faint smile, inclining his head toward them with a quiet grace. "Good evening," he said, his voice soft yet carrying a resonant warmth. "I hope I'm not intruding. Might I share your fire for a moment? It's been a long walk, and the night bites with its chill. Perhaps," he added, his eyes twinkling as he gestured toward their instruments, "I might even enjoy a bit more of that lovely music."

Lyra was the first to recover, her hand dropping away from her gauntlet. "You're welcome to join us," she said cautiously, though her tone carried an edge of suspicion.

The man moved closer, lowering himself to sit on a rock near the heater. The animals followed, circling him protectively before settling down.

"I am called the Watcher," he said simply, resting both hands on the head of his walking stick. "Just an old man doing his penance."

Coren's throat felt dry as she studied him. There was something about him—something unexplainable. He looked ordinary enough, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was far more to him than met the eye.

"What kind of penance?" Lyra asked, her voice steady but probing.

The Watcher smiled faintly, his gaze distant. "For sins long past," he said. Then his sharp eyes fixed on Coren. "And for sins yet to come."

The fire crackled softly between them, casting flickering shadows on the dense forest around the camp. The Watcher sat with an air of calm authority, leaning on his crooked walking stick as the Wolfiger and the other creatures relaxed at his feet like loyal companions.

Lyra and Coren sat across from him, their gazes locked on the mysterious old man, their wariness mingling with curiosity. There was something deeply disarming about him, but neither of them let their guard down entirely.

The Watcher let the silence linger for a moment before speaking. "You two seem troubled," he said gently, his sharp eyes darting between them. "I imagine you've come across things you weren't ready for. Knowledge has a way of weighing heavy on the heart."

Coren frowned, shifting uncomfortably. "You could say that," she muttered, glancing at Lyra for reassurance.

The Watcher chuckled softly, the sound deep and warm, like the distant rumble of thunder. "Well then, perhaps I can lighten that burden—if only a little. I have a story to tell, one I believe will be of interest to the both of you."

Lyra's eyes narrowed slightly. "And what kind of story would that be?"

The Watcher's smile didn't waver. "The kind that might help you understand the path you're on," he replied cryptically. "But we'll need somewhere more comfortable than this camp. Surely you have a base of some sort? A place with more… amenities."

Coren and Lyra exchanged a glance. "We do," Lyra said carefully, "but it's not exactly nearby."

The Watcher tilted his head, his smile fading slightly. "And why haven't you brought it here, then?"

Coren blinked, confused. "I don't know how."

The Watcher's gaze shifted to Sol, who had been hovering silently by Coren's side. "Haven't you been doing your job, Sol?" he asked, his tone half-chiding, half-amused.

Sol's glow flickered, but he remained silent.

Coren's confusion deepened. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her tone tinged with frustration.

The Watcher turned his attention back to her, his sharp eyes glinting with something like amusement. "Ah, it seems no one has taught you how to properly wield the Melody of Flow. A shame, but not surprising. I suppose I'll have to do it myself."

"The Melody of Flow?" Coren repeated, her voice cautious but intrigued.

The Watcher nodded. "Yes. It's one of the core aspects of the Fields—the very essence of movement and connection. It governs the flow of energy, of time, and of space itself. With it, one can form gates—doorways between one place and another. Every location in the universe has its own unique… signature, you could say. A set of notes that defines its place in existence."

Coren leaned forward, her curiosity piqued despite her lingering suspicion. "And you're saying… I can use that to move our base here?"

"Precisely," the Watcher said with a faint smile. "If you can recall the notes of your base—the unique sound of its location—you can weave that melody into the Fields around you and create a doorway. A gate."

Lyra crossed her arms, her expression sceptical. "And how exactly is she supposed to remember the 'sound' of a place she wasn't even listening for?"

The Watcher chuckled again, his amusement clear. "Ah, you doubt too easily, my dear. Everything leaves an imprint. Even if she wasn't consciously listening, her connection to the Fields ensures that the melody is already there, locked away in her memory. She simply needs to retrieve it."

Coren's heart raced at the idea. The prospect of creating gates—of manipulating space itself—was both exhilarating and daunting. "How do I… retrieve it?" she asked hesitantly.

The Watcher gestured for her to sit cross-legged by the fire. "Through meditation," he said simply. "Close your eyes, focus your mind, and let the Fields guide you. I will help."

Coren did as he instructed, sitting down and closing her eyes. The warmth of the fire on her face was grounding, but it took effort to quiet her thoughts. The chaos of the past few days—the Vault, the prisoner, the ambush—still churned in her mind like a storm.

"Focus," the Watcher said gently, his voice cutting through the noise in her head. "Breathe. Let everything else fade away."

She took a deep breath, and then another, the sounds of the forest fading into the background. Slowly, she began to feel it—the subtle hum of the Fields, a gentle vibration that seemed to resonate deep within her.

"Now," the Watcher continued, "think of your forward base. Picture it in your mind. The sights, the sounds, the feeling of the space. Let the memory of it fill you."

Coren's brow furrowed in concentration. She pictured the cramped prefab structure, the metallic scent of the equipment, the noise of the power systems. As she focused, she began to hear it—a faint, distant melody, soft and elusive, like the first notes of a song carried on the wind.

"That's it," the Watcher said, his tone encouraging. "Hold on to it. Let it grow."

The melody grew stronger, clearer. It was layered and complex, a symphony of notes that felt impossibly vast yet deeply familiar. Coren's heart swelled with a strange sense of recognition.

"I hear it," she whispered.

"Good," the Watcher said. "Now, weave it into the Fields around you. Let the melody take shape, let it change this place to match the sound of the one you remember. This is the essence of the Melody of Flow."

Coren tried to focus, but as she began to weave the melody, she felt resistance. It was as though the Fields were fighting her, pushing back against her attempt to alter them. Sweat beaded on her brow as she struggled to maintain her connection.

"She doesn't have enough energy," Lyra said, stepping forward, her voice tinged with concern.

The Watcher nodded. "Of course. A task like this requires far more power than her training reactor can provide."

He raised his walking stick, tapping it lightly against the ground. A ripple of energy spread outward, and Coren felt a surge of power flood into her, warm and steady like a river.

"Try again," the Watcher said.

Coren took another deep breath, her grip on the melody strengthening with the additional energy. This time, the resistance faded, and the notes wove together seamlessly. The air around her seemed to shimmer, bending and folding in on itself as the melody reached its crescendo.

Then, with a faint pop, a glowing doorway appeared before them, its edges pulsing with light.

Coren opened her eyes, her breath catching as she saw the familiar outline of their forward base through the glowing doorway. She could hardly believe it had worked.

The Watcher gave her an approving nod. "Well done," he said warmly. "You have much to learn, but this is a promising start."

Lyra, though still cautious, couldn't hide her amazement. "You… you actually did it and on your first try," she said, her voice filled with a mix of disbelief and pride.

The doorway stabilized, and within moments, the forward base stood before them, its equipment and supplies intact. The Wolfiger trotted over, sniffing at the base before letting out a satisfied huff.

The Watcher gave a knowing smile and tapped his walking stick lightly on the ground. A soft ripple coursed through the air, and with a faint hum, the forward base shimmered into view on their side of the doorway. It settled seamlessly into the landscape as if it had always belonged there. "You can let it go now," he said, his voice calm but expectant, as if he knew they had been holding their breaths. "Shall we?" He gestured toward the newly relocated base with an inviting sweep of his hand, his smile widening. "I believe it's time for that story I promised you."

Coren hesitated, her curiosity warring with practicality. "Before that," she ventured, glancing at Lyra, "could you help us retrieve the FusionRider? We'll need it if we're going to keep moving."

The Watcher chuckled, the sound warm and rich like an old melody. "Of course, my dear. Efficiency is key, after all." With a tap of his stick and a brief flick of his wrist, the air shimmered again. Moments later, the FusionRider emerged through the doorway, its massive, rugged frame settling beside the base with a low mechanical hum. "There," he said with a satisfied nod. "Now everything you need is right here."

Coren and Lyra exchanged a glance, a mixture of awe and scepticism flitting across their faces. But the lure of answers was too strong to resist. Silently, they followed the Watcher inside the base, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor. The cozy interior had been untouched by its recent relocation, the warmth of the firepit and the faint scent of breakfast still lingering in the air.

The Watcher waved his stick again with a casual flick, and a sudden warmth filled the air. Before Coren could ask what he was doing, three cups materialized on a small rock ledge nearby, steam curling from their rims. The aroma that wafted toward her was rich and nutty, with a faintly sweet undertone that reminded her of roasted chestnuts.

"Luminseed," the Watcher said with a faint smile, picking up one of the cups and handing it to Lyra. "A drink for weary souls. Brewed fresh, of course." He handed the second to Coren, who hesitated briefly before taking it, and kept the third for himself, settling back against a smooth boulder as though it were the most natural thing in the world to conjure beverages in the middle of a forbidden zone.

Coren sniffed the drink, curious, and took a cautious sip. The warmth spread through her chest immediately, soothing and grounding her. She caught Lyra doing the same, though her mentor's wary eyes remained fixed on the Watcher.

"Well then," the Watcher began, his voice soft but resonant, as though each word carried the weight of centuries. "Where to start? Ah, perhaps at the beginning. All stories should begin there, don't you think?" He chuckled lightly, a sound that somehow felt ancient, and took a slow sip of his tea. His sharp eyes glinted in the firelight, catching both Coren and Lyra in their grasp.

Coren and Lyra leaned forward, their curiosity eclipsing any lingering suspicion.

"There was once an old alien," the Watcher said, settling into a melodic cadence. "A scientist—brilliant, but terribly lonely. His people were ancient and wise, but they were observers, not creators. They moved through the stars as if they were the silent custodians of the universe. And among their studies, they observed humanity—your kind. Even then, there was something about humans that intrigued the galaxy, something no one could quite define."

He paused, swirling his tea, his expression thoughtful. "One day, this alien conducted an experiment. Whether it was an accident or the hand of fate guiding his work, we'll never know. But what he created was something wholly unexpected. A life—though not a biological one. A being of pure energy, connected to the Fields in a way that had never been seen before. The first Companion."

Coren's breath hitched, and her grip on her cup tightened. "The first Companion?" she echoed, her voice trembling with awe.

The Watcher nodded, his expression tinged with bittersweet sorrow. "Yes. A being that existed as a bridge between the tangible and the infinite. It was unlike anything that had ever existed. Sadly, it could not survive outside the Well of Souls. The alien was both fascinated and terrified by his creation. He sought to study it, to classify it, to control it. But in his hubris, he overlooked something vital." His gaze flicked to Coren and then to Lyra, his tone softening. "He didn't realise that what he had created wasn't just an experiment. It was a child."

Lyra frowned slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of her chair. "A child?" she asked, her voice sceptical but laced with curiosity.

"Yes," the Watcher said simply, his sigh carrying the weight of countless memories. "It had a mind, a will, a soul. But the old alien was no parent. To him, it was only data—a project to be monitored, not a life to be nurtured. And then something remarkable happened—something even the alien, with all his brilliance, could not have predicted."

He paused, his gaze growing distant. "A human boy was born. But the child was fragile, his body unable to survive the cruel world into which he came. He was not long for this life." The Watcher's voice softened, reverent. "In an act no one could have anticipated, the Companion left the Well of Souls. It bonded irrevocably to the boy, intertwining with his being in a way that transcended our understanding—a bond of soul and Fields, a union that would define them both."

Coren's chest tightened as she listened, a strange pang of recognition stirring within her.

"But the alien could not be what the boy needed," the Watcher continued, his voice tinged with regret. "And one day, the boy and his Companion ran away. They found others—humans—who took them in. Taught them. Loved them. The boy grew, and so did his power. Humanity has always had a unique connection to the Fields, but he was… something else. Something more. He rose to become the most formidable being in the galaxy, and his Companion evolved in tandem, their connection becoming the foundation of legends. Their bond was unparalleled—a symphony of power and harmony that even the stars seemed to admire. Together, they forged the first of the Companions you bond with today, shaping a legacy that endures through the ages.

Coren's voice was barely above a whisper as she asked, "What was his name?"

The Watcher tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint, wistful smile. "He has had many names. But the one closest to his heart was Zeiric. And his Companion was called Eterna."

Lyra exhaled slowly, the names hanging heavy in the air. "Zeiric and Eterna…" she murmured. "But if they were so powerful, what happened? How did it all… fall apart?"

The Watcher leaned closer, the firelight casting shadows across his face. "Even the strongest beings can be undone by love," he said quietly. "Zeiric found his family—a true family. He married a woman who matched his light and fire. Together, they had a daughter. She was a child of wonder, a child of hope. Everything humanity had the potential to be, distilled into one perfect soul."

Coren swallowed hard, her heart tightening painfully. "What… happened to her?"

The Watcher's gaze darkened, the ancient weariness in his eyes cutting deeper than any words. "One day, she was taken from him. Stolen. Murdered." His voice dropped, trembling with the weight of grief. "The galaxy, in its cruelty, took from him the one thing he could not bear to lose. And when she died, so too did his light."

The silence that followed was unbearable, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the room. Coren and Lyra exchanged a glance, their faces pale. They didn't need to ask what happened next; they remembered the storm of grief and rage that rippled in that scream at the end of the holo recording.

"And after that," the Watcher said quietly, "the galaxy would never be the same. The aftermath of that moment still haunts humanity today."

Lyra's jaw tightened. "And what happened after that? What happened to him?"

The Watcher leaned back, his expression unreadable. "All answers in due time," he said simply. "You will need to follow the path if you wish to understand the full truth. That is where his story—and yours—will intersect."

Lyra furrowed her brow, confusion etched across her face. "Ours? What does any of this have to do with us?"

The Watcher leaned forward, his gaze steady but filled with a quiet weight. "You see," he began, his voice calm but tinged with sorrow, "after the Severance, we—those who survived, those who bore the greatest burdens—formed an accord. We decided to wait. To wait for a time when those untainted by our grief, our anger, and our guilt would be reborn. Those who could see the full picture without the burden of our bias. A later generation, wiser and freer than we ever were, to judge us."

Coren's brow furrowed, her voice hesitant. "Judge you for what?"

"For our actions," the Watcher said simply, his gaze flickering between the two of them. "We set up this path—this trail of truth—for you to follow, for you to learn without interference. And when you've seen it all, you will decide. Was what we did just? Or was it monstrous?"

Coren felt a chill creep over her despite the warmth of the fire. The weight of what he was saying was almost too much to process.

The Watcher leaned forward, placing his empty cup on the ground beside him. "Now, rest," he said, his tone shifting to something softer. "Tomorrow, we will discuss the next step in your journey. What to do about the… thing that is kept here."

The fire crackled softly, its warm glow dancing across their faces. Coren and Lyra sat in stunned silence, the gravity of the Watcher's words pressing down on them like a tangible force.

In the quiet of the night, with the Wolfiger curled protectively nearby and the forest alive with distant rustlings, Coren found herself turning over his words in her mind. Judgment. Why would either of them be worthy of giving a judgment against them?