Regret

Coren woke to a dull, throbbing ache in every inch of her body. Even the simple act of blinking felt like a monumental effort. Her limbs were stiff, her muscles burning as though she'd run for miles without stopping. Groaning softly, she turned her head to take in her surroundings.

It was unlike any place she'd ever seen. A beautiful, vibrant garden stretched out around her, filled with plants and flowers in every colour imaginable. The air was heavy with the fragrance of blooms, the rustle of leaves blending harmoniously with the distant sound of water trickling. The centrepiece of the garden was an obelisk standing tall in the middle of the clearing, its surface shimmering faintly. It didn't take long for Coren to realise what it was.

"Songstone…" she whispered, her voice hoarse and dry.

"You're correct," Sol said quietly, his glowing form hovering nearby. He dimmed his light as if trying not to agitate her already exhausted senses. "But don't try to move just yet. You're suffering from backlash—too much energy channelled through your body. Your system hasn't recovered yet and won't for a while."

Coren grimaced, her fingers twitching as she tried to push herself up. "I feel like I got hit by a fusion truck… twice."

"Not far from the truth," Sol said, his voice tinged with concern. "But we have a bigger problem right now."

Coren blinked, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Look up," Sol said simply.

Coren's gaze shifted upward, and her breath caught in her throat. Standing at the edge of the garden, framed by the vibrant flowers and greenery, was a figure unlike anything she'd expected to see.

The being radiated an ethereal glow, its body appearing to be made entirely of energy. Its form was humanoid, but its movements were unnervingly smooth, as if gravity and physical limits meant nothing to it. They seemed to be the same species as the Watcher. White and gold adorned its body in the form of a Fieldwielder Association commander uniform, the insignia unmistakable.

But Coren's heart truly sank when her eyes drifted to what the being held in its glowing hands.

Lyra and Lex were trapped. Both of them were contained within shimmering, portable energy prisons—compact spheres of flickering, unstable light. Lyra's expression was grim, her gauntlets still sparking faintly, but her face betrayed no fear. Lex, on the other hand, was visibly agitated, his red glow pulsating erratically within his confinement.

The energy being turned its gaze to Coren, its movements as fluid as water. "Ah, you're finally awake," it said, its voice smooth but laced with disdain. "I was beginning to think you'd just sleep through this entire ordeal. Though, I suppose it would have saved us all some time."

Coren's jaw tightened as she struggled to sit up, Sol hovering protectively at her side. "are… you who I think you are?" she said in no more than a whisper.

The being tilted its head, its glow pulsing faintly. "I am Commander Sammella, We have met before" it said with an air of self-importance. "Leader of the Fieldwielder Association. Unfortunately, this area seems to have some form of anti-Field technology, so I couldn't maintain my disguise. You'll have to forgive the inconvenience."

Memories flooded back—her piercing gaze, the way her presence had filled the lecture hall during that ethics lesson, and the relentless way she had pressed Coren for an answer. Does might make right? Sammella had asked, her tone calm but unyielding, as though testing Coren's very soul.

"I don't understand…" Coren began, her voice raspy. "What are you doing here? Why are you holding them?" She gestured weakly toward Lyra and Lex.

Sammella crossed her arms, her glow intensifying. "What am I doing here?" she repeated, her tone mocking. "You're asking the wrong questions, child. The real question is why you are here—meddling in things far beyond your comprehension."

Coren grit her teeth, pushing herself shakily to her knees. "We're trying to uncover the truth. Isn't that what Fieldwielders are supposed to do? Protect the balance, uncover the past—"

Sammella laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Protect the balance? Uncover the past? Is that the lie they've been feeding you?" She shook her head, her glowing form flickering slightly. "No. My job—our job—is to ensure the past stays buried. To ensure humanity never again becomes the threat it once was."

The words sent a chill down Coren's spine. "Threat? What are you talking about?"

Sammella's expression darkened, and for a moment, Coren thought she saw something flicker across the commander's face—an old anger, raw and unyielding. "Do you think the galaxy has forgotten? Forgotten the wars, the atrocities, the arrogance of your kind? Humanity once ruled the stars, and in its hubris and its attitude of might making right. It nearly destroyed everything."

Coren's voice wavered. "That was over a thousand years ago! We're not those people anymore!"

Sammella's laugh was sharp and cruel. "Spare me your excuses. The Severance may have humbled your kind, but it didn't erase what you are. Warriors. Conquerors. You don't deserve the stars. You deserve this." She gestured to the ground beneath them, her glowing hand sweeping toward the horizon. An illusion came from a projector on her uniform of the ruins of Earth appeared. "A broken, desolate Earth. A prison of your own making. And I will ensure it stays that way."

Coren's hands balled into fists, anger and confusion swirling in her chest. "You've… you've been keeping Earth like this? The tribes, the ruins—everything?"

"Yes," Sammella said without hesitation, her voice filled with righteous fury. "It is punishment. And it is a warning. As long as I command the Fieldwielder Association, humanity will never rise again."

Her words hung heavy in the air, but Coren's mind raced as a new thought struck her. "What about your Companion?" she asked, her voice laced with accusation. "Don't they have a say in this?"

Sammella laughed again, the sound hollow and cold. "A Companion?" She spread her arms wide. "I don't need one. Unlike you primitive fools, I have mastered the fields without relying on such crutches. The melodies are mine to command. I was using the fields long before your kind even crawled out of the swamp."

Sol moved closer to Coren, his voice low. "Careful," he whispered. "She's powerful, but she's not invincible. Especially here."

Coren nodded faintly, her gaze never leaving Sammella. She wasn't sure how they were going to get out of this, but one thing was clear: she wasn't going to let Lyra and Lex remain trapped—not while she still had breath in her body.

Commander Sammella's glowing form moved closer, the energy surrounding her crackling faintly as if charged by her righteous fury. Her voice was calm, but it carried a dangerous edge. "You have a simple choice, child. Use the obelisk to obtain the artifact and hand it over to me, and your mentor will be released. Or…" She paused, her eyes glinting with malice, "Lyra will suffer the consequences of your disobedience until you comply. Either way, I will get what I came for."

Coren's breath hitched as her gaze darted between Sammella, the glowing energy prison holding Lyra and Lex, and the Songstone obelisk towering in the centre of the vibrant garden. Sammella's arrogance was grating, but she wasn't bluffing. Whatever the artifact was, Sammella was desperate to get her hands on it—even if she didn't know what it truly was.

"You don't even know what the artifact does," Coren said, her voice defiant despite the tremble in her hands.

"I don't need to," Sammella said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "If it's locked behind something as rare as a Songstone obelisk, it must be important. And I am more than capable of determining its value once it's in my possession."

Coren clenched her fists, her mind racing. She could feel Sol hovering beside her, silent but steady, his presence grounding her in the midst of her panic. There was no way Sammella would simply let them go—not without the artifact in hand.

Coren's gaze flickered to the obelisk. It shimmered faintly, the surface alive with swirling patterns of light and energy. She could feel the pull of the melodies within it, calling to her in a way she couldn't quite explain. There was no question about it—this obelisk was locked to her. Only she could activate it.

She glanced at her friends, bound and vulnerable. The threat was real, but so was the potential in front of her. The artifact was hers to unlock, and in that moment, she understood. Refusing wasn't an option. Delaying might cost lives.

"I'll do it," Coren said, straightening her back and meeting Sammella's glowing gaze.

"Coren, no!" Lyra's voice cut through the tension, muffled slightly by the shimmering prison that encased her. She pressed her hands against the glowing barrier, her face twisted in frustration. "Don't trust her!"

Sammella chuckled, her tone mocking. "Oh, this isn't about trust, my dear Lyra. It's about leverage. And your friend here understands that far better than you do."

Coren ignored her, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the obelisk. Sol drifted closer, his glow dim but steady. "Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly.

"She's not giving us a choice," Coren replied under her breath. "And if I can activate this thing, I might be able to turn the tables."

Sol hesitated but eventually nodded. "Be careful. The obelisk will test you."

Coren reached out, her hand hovering just above the surface of the obelisk. The energy radiating from it was intense, and she could feel the intricate layers of melodies weaving through its core. Taking a deep breath, she placed her palm against the cool, humming surface.

The world shifted instantly.

Coren blinked, disoriented as the vibrant garden melted away, replaced by a vast, featureless plain. The sky was a uniform grey, stretching endlessly in every direction. The ground beneath her feet was smooth and reflective, like polished glass. It was eerily silent—no wind, no birds, no sound at all.

She glanced around, half-expecting to see some figure or entity waiting for her, but she was alone. "Another mental space," she muttered to herself, her voice echoing faintly in the void.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Ever since her training with Sol, she'd wondered about these spaces. Did these machines—like the obelisk—have souls of their own? If they did, was she walking inside one now?

Her musings were cut short when the glassy surface beneath her feet rippled, as though something had stirred beneath it. A deep, resonant voice spoke, echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Two paths," it said simply.

Coren turned in place, searching for the source of the voice. "Who's there?" she called out, but there was no response.

The ground rippled again, and two glowing shapes appeared before her, like doors etched into the reflective surface. Each pulsed faintly with energy, their auras radiating distinct feelings. The first shape was blue, its glow calm and serene, yet heavy with finality. The voice spoke again, its tone measured.

"Option one: Only You and your companion will return through the gate, and it will be locked forever. The artifact will be given to you, and you will gain knowledge of the Severance."

Coren felt her stomach twist. Gaining knowledge about the Severance—about the truth they had been chasing for so long—was tempting, but at what cost?

Her eyes shifted to the second shape, which glowed a deep gold, its aura warm but laced with tension. "Option two: You will rescue Lyra, and Sammella will be sent back to Earth, barred from ever returning. The artifact will remain here, untouched, but the truth will stay buried."

Coren's breath caught. Two paths. Two impossible choices.

The blue path offered answers—answers that could reshape everything they knew about humanity and the Severance. But it came at the cost of abandoning Lyra to Sammella's wrath.

The gold path offered freedom for Lyra and justice against Sammella, but it would leave them no closer to uncovering the truth.

Coren's hands trembled at her sides. She could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on her, her mind racing as she tried to find a way out of this impossible dilemma.

The voice spoke again, softer this time. "The obelisk holds power for only one action. Choose wisely."

Coren swallowed hard, her thoughts swirling like a storm. She knew what Zeiric would have done—what he had done—when faced with choices like this. He had sacrificed everything to wash away the regret of a single moment, and the price had been too great.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. "No price will ever erase the regret of losing a loved one," she whispered to herself, the words anchoring her.

When Coren opened her eyes, her resolve was firm. The golden path glowed faintly before her, its warm light a steady guide.

"Path two," she said softly, her voice steady and clear. "As long as Lyra and I are safe, we'll find another way to the truth. I'm not sacrificing the people I care about—not for answers not for a legacy, not for anything."

She exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the decision settle in her chest. She'd spent so much of her life believing she was pragmatic, that she could make the hard choices for her own greater good. But now she understood—regret wasn't something you could simply erase. It lingered, it wasn't worth losing what mattered most.

The voice returned, calm and almost approving. "You have chosen wisely. The truth is not found by forsaking others. It is found through trust, resilience, and a heart that understands the cost of regret."

The mental space rippled like water, the reflective ground shifting and dissolving around her. As the golden path faded from view, Coren felt herself being pulled back, her body weightless as the world began to reform.

Coren staggered slightly as she reappeared in the garden, the vibrant colours and the silence of the garden grounding her after the surreal experience. The obelisk stood before her, glowing faintly as it began to shift and transform. Panels folded inward, light pulsing in rhythmic waves as the towering structure compacted itself. By the time it finished, the obelisk had become a smooth, rectangular tablet that shimmered faintly with an otherworldly glow.

Standing nearby were Lyra and—unexpectedly—HG, who now appeared in holographic form, his expression as eccentric and smug as ever.

"Well, well, well," HG said, clapping his hands together in a slow, overly dramatic applause. "She lives! And with a shiny new toy, no less. Not bad, Chosen One. Not bad at all."

Coren blinked, confused. "Why are you here?" she asked, her voice still shaky from the experience.

"Why am I here?" HG repeated with mock offence, placing a hand over his chest. "My dear Coren, I've always been here. Did you think I was just twiddling my metaphorical thumbs back at the bunker? AIs aren't limited by your organic notions of individuality, you know. I'm everywhere—and nowhere—at once! Plus this is my garden"

Lyra raised an eyebrow. "You didn't mention that before."

"Well, you never asked," HG said with a shrug. "Besides, I figured it was obvious. But I digress! Let's talk about the real star of the show—this delightful little tablet."

Coren glanced at the tablet resting where the obelisk once stood. Its surface shimmered faintly, and she could feel the intricate melodies woven into its core. Whatever it was, it radiated a quiet, ancient power that made her stomach twist with both excitement and unease.

"Is this the artifact?" she asked, stepping closer.

"Bingo!" HG said, throwing his hands up like he'd just announced the winning lottery numbers. "That right there is what all the fuss is about. And congratulations—you made the correct choice, by the way. If you'd chosen the other path, the obelisk wouldn't have revealed this little gem. Instead, it would've locked itself away and left you empty-handed."

Coren frowned, her mind still racing. "Wait… the obelisk was testing me?"

"Of course it was!" HG said, spinning on his heels and gesturing dramatically toward the tablet. "You didn't think it was just a fancy lock, did you? No, no, no—this baby was designed to ensure only the right person could access what's inside. Someone with a conscience, a heart, and a knack for not being a complete idiot."

Lyra crossed her arms, giving HG a sceptical look. "And who decides what's 'right'? The obelisk? Or whoever programmed it?"

HG grinned, wagging a finger at her. "Ah, that's the beauty of it, my dear Lyra. The obelisk doesn't 'decide' anything. It simply responds to the choices you make. You passed the test because you valued something greater than knowledge. You valued each other."

Coren's grip on the tablet tightened. She could feel the melodies within it, almost like a faint heartbeat. "So… this tablet. It holds the truth about the Severance? About everything?"

"More or less," HG replied, his tone suddenly shifting to something quieter, more thoughtful. "It's not just a history book, you know. It's… well, you'll see. I'd hate to spoil the surprise."

Lyra looked at Coren, her expression serious. "Are we ready for this?"

Coren nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the tablet. "We've come this far. Whatever's in here, we'll face it together."

HG's grin returned in full force, his holographic form flickering faintly. "Well said, Chosen One. Well said."

As they prepared to leave the garden, Coren cast one last glance at the clearing. The vibrant flowers swayed gently in a breeze that didn't seem to exist, their colours unnaturally vivid, almost dreamlike. Where the obelisk had once stood, the tablet now rested securely in her hands, its surface pulsing faintly with the melodies hidden within. There was a sense of finality to the moment, yet also a lingering unease—like the end of one chapter and the daunting beginning of another.

She turned to follow Lyra and HG when, without warning, a metallic door slid open on the far side of the garden. Bright, artificial light flooded the space, and in an instant, the serene garden dissolved, revealing the sleek, sterile interior of the bunker they thought they'd left behind.

Coren blinked, disoriented. "Wait… we're back at the bunker?"

"See? I told you it was my garden," HG said with an all-too-pleased grin, his holographic form materializing in front of them as if he'd been waiting for this exact moment. He gestured around dramatically, his projection flickering slightly as if to emphasize his pride.

Lyra's jaw tightened, her annoyance evident as she turned to glare at him. "You're telling me this entire time… that garden was just here? Inside your bunker?"

"And you made us go through the gate for it?" Coren added, her voice a mix of disbelief and irritation.

HG clasped his hands together, his grin widening. "Oh, but of course! What's life without a little drama, my dear students? A story without tension is hardly a story at all!"

Coren's grip on the tablet tightened, her exhaustion and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "Drama?" she repeated, her tone sharp. "You put us through all of that—training, the gate, the enforcers—for drama?"

HG tilted his head, as if genuinely pondering her question. "Well, not just for drama. You did need the training, after all. And let's not forget the valuable lessons you've learned along the way. But yes… drama played a part. Keeps things interesting, don't you think?"

Lyra pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath about "irritating AIs," while Coren simply stared at HG, unsure whether to laugh or scream.

"You could've just told us it was here," Lyra finally said, her tone clipped.

"Where's the fun in that?" HG replied, his holographic form flickering closer. "Besides, the gate wasn't for me—it was for you. The journey matters, not just the destination. Or do they not teach you that in your fancy Fieldwielder Association schools?"

Coren exchanged a glance with Lyra, both of them too tired to continue the argument. Instead, Coren exhaled deeply, shaking her head. "Fine. Whatever. Can we just figure out what's on this tablet now?"

HG's grin remained in place, though there was a faint glimmer of genuine warmth in his expression. "All in good time, my dear. For now, why don't you sit down, catch your breath, and revel in the fact that you've passed the first of many tests. Oh, and maybe thank your friendly neighbourhood AI for providing you with such a memorable experience?"

"Thank you," Coren said flatly, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"You're very welcome!" HG chirped, entirely missing—or perhaps deliberately ignoring—the sarcasm.

As the door behind them slid shut and the hum of the bunker's systems surrounded them once more, Coren couldn't help but feel that the answers they'd sought for so long were within reach, but she had a sinking feeling that uncovering the truth would only lead to more questions.

And knowing HG, there would undoubtedly be more "drama" along the way.