Truth

The artifact a plain-looking tablet rested in Coren's hands, its surface cool and smooth, faintly glowing with an inner light that pulsed like a heartbeat. She could feel it, the resonance of the melodies within. It wasn't just a stone. It was alive with Fields, with memories, with echoes of a past so distant yet so heavy it might as well have been yesterday.

"It's called a memory stone," Sol explained, hovering nearby, his silvery light faint but steady. "It's more than just a recording. It's a slice of time, a perfect capture of the Fields as they were in a specific moment. It's been recorded on songstone. You can replay it the same way you viewed the history at the mountain."

Coren traced the intricate patterns carved into the stone, feeling the pull of its melodies as if they were calling to her. The Songstone vibrated faintly, not with sound but with the energy of the Fields it contained.

"I can feel it," she murmured, her voice quiet but certain. "The melodies… they're there, layered and overlapping. It's so clear."

Lex hovered closer, his red glow flickering with curiosity. "Of course it's clear," he said. "It was made for someone like you—a wielder of 6 melodies, someone who has trained and become strong in the fields. The question is, are you ready for what it will show you?"

Coren glanced at him, then at Lyra, who stood nearby with her arms crossed, her expression cautious but supportive. "We've come this far," Coren said, her voice steady. "We need to know the truth."

Sol pulsed gently, a subtle encouragement. "Then let's begin. Bring us into your mental space, Coren."

She closed her eyes and let the melodies guide her. The memory stone's energy flowed through her, resonating with her own Fields, pulling her consciousness inward. The familiar sensation of weightlessness surrounded her, and when she opened her eyes again, they were standing in her purple mental space.

The air in the mental space was rich with energy, alive with possibility. The colour seemed deeper than before, more vibrant, as if reflecting the gravity of what was about to unfold. Lyra appeared beside her, her presence grounding Coren as always. Sol and Lex hovered nearby, their light subdued in deference to the moment.

The memory stone floated into the centre of the space, glowing brighter now, and then began to shift. Light spilled from it, spreading outward until it coalesced into a figure—a projection of a woman with warm, sorrowful eyes and silver-streaked hair.

"Sylvara," Coren whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

The figure—Sylvara—seemed to focus on Coren, her expression a mix of warmth and grief. "If you're seeing this," she began, her voice soft yet resonating with power, "Then a chosen one has been born. Humanity has failed. But perhaps… there's still a chance to understand, to make a better choice than we did."

Coren's chest tightened. The projection wasn't just a recording. It felt alive, like Sylvara was truly here, speaking to her directly.

"I never wanted it to be this way," Sylvara continued. Her gaze dropped, as if she were speaking more to herself than to her audience. "The Severance wasn't meant to happen. None of it was meant to happen. How could I have known the boy I raised could feel so deeply"

The scene around them began to shift, the purple of Coren's mental space dissolving into a new image. They stood on a vast field under a sky filled with alien stars. In the distance, towering structures—both human and alien—burned, their destruction painting the horizon with fire and ash.

"This is where it began," Sylvara said, her voice trembling slightly. "The day the Empress Belle was assassinated. The day everything fell apart."

The image shifted again, showing a younger Sylvara standing beside Zeiric and his shimmering Companion Eterna. They were watching the Empress Belle give her final speech, her voice filled with hope and unity. Coren recognized the scene from the Vault of Regret.

"She was my granddaughter in all but blood," Sylvara said softly, her projection turning to face the group as the memory played out around them. "The light of humanity, the symbol of everything we were supposed to become. When the Valtau struck her down, it wasn't just an assassination—it was the death of hope itself."

Coren felt a lump rise in her throat as the scene shifted again. This time, it was chaos—soldiers clashing, fields igniting, the heavens torn apart by ships firing on one another. And at the centre of it all was Zeiric, his sword flashing with deadly precision, his rage palpable even in the memory.

"I tried to calm him," Sylvara said, her voice breaking slightly. "Even through my own grief, I tried to reach him. But his rage… it was unstoppable. He struck out against the Valtau Empire, obliterating entire worlds, all in the name of retribution. And that retribution sparked chaos across the galaxy. The weaker alliances fractured. The warlike species saw an opportunity to strike at humanity, and soon the galaxy was in flames."

The memory blurred, and suddenly they were on Earth—or what was left of it. Cities were reduced to rubble, the land scorched and lifeless. Sylvara stood in the foreground, her face lined with exhaustion and despair as Zeiric's shadow loomed behind her.

"He couldn't stop," Sylvara continued, her voice hollow. "Even after we repelled the invaders, even after we fought back against the galaxy, he couldn't stop. He chased them to their worlds, handing out judgment as if he were a god. I begged him to see reason, but it was too late. He had gone too far."

The projection of Sylvara turned to face them fully, her gaze piercing. "I betrayed him," she said, her voice quiet but unwavering. "I worked with the Ancients and his father the Watcher—those who understood the Fields better than anyone—to create the device. The device that would lock him, and the last of humanity, into the pocket dimension. It was the only way to stop him… and to save what little was left."

The space around them shifted again, the purple of Coren's mental space dimming to reveal a memory from long ago. Sylvara stood in a massive chamber filled with light, its walls glowing with intricate carvings of shifting melodies. The Ancients surrounded her—shadowy figures that pulsed with energy, their forms indistinct, as if they were part of the Fields themselves.

"He wasn't just wielding the Fields," Sylvara continued, her voice almost a whisper. "He was the Fields. His bond with Eterna had grown so deep, so symbiotic, that his very essence was intertwined with their fabric. He could rewrite reality itself. There was no cage, no force, no structure in the galaxy that could contain him."

Sylvara's projection turned back to face them, her expression hollow but resolute. "The device we created was the most advanced piece of Field manipulation ever attempted. A construct designed to create a pocket dimension—a universe within a universe—to trap him and the remnants of humanity. But even that wasn't enough. We knew that if he ever found it, if he ever truly wanted to, he could destroy it. He could break out."

The memory shifted again, and Coren and Lyra saw Sylvara standing before the completed device. It was a monolithic structure, glowing with the combined energies of every Field. Its surface shimmered like liquid starlight, and the melodies emanating from it were so intricate, so profound, that Coren couldn't comprehend them.

"I had to make it more than a prison," Sylvara said, her voice breaking slightly. "I had to make it something he wouldn't dare to destroy. Something that even he—despite all his rage, all his grief—would hesitate to erase."

She turned to face them fully now, her eyes locking onto Coren's with an intensity that sent chills down her spine. "So I made the ultimate sacrifice. I gave it my soul."

"The device is powered by my life force, my very essence. My soul is its anchor, its core. If Zeiric were to destroy the device, he would destroy me, utterly and completely. No rebirth, no return to the cycle. I would be gone, erased from existence."

"I hoped," Sylvara said, her voice trembling, "that there was still enough love left in him for this to be effective. I had to believe that, no matter how far he had fallen, some part of him still cared. That he wouldn't—couldn't—bring himself to destroy me."

Coren didn't understand, she was supposed to be the reincarnation of Sylvara's soul so how could that be the case if she sacrificed herself to the device?

Her form dissolved into light, leaving Coren and Lyra standing in the now-muted purple of Coren's mental space.

Lyra exhaled deeply, running a hand through her hair. "That was… a lot."

Coren nodded silently, her mind a storm of thoughts and emotions. The weight of Sylvara's sacrifice, her choices, and her doubts pressed heavily on her.

"Do you think she was right?" Coren asked quietly, her voice trembling. "Do you think it was worth it?"

Lyra was silent for a long moment before answering. "I don't know," she admitted. "But if she hadn't done it, we wouldn't be here. And maybe… maybe that's what matters."

A presence—two presences—descended upon the mental space, like a pressure against her very soul. The purple hues rippled like disturbed water, the fabric of the space bending and reshaping itself. Coren turned, her breath catching as Zeiric stepped forward from the shadows, his towering form illuminated by the silvery light of Eterna hovering beside him.

Zeiric's gaze was steady, his expression unreadable but not unkind. Eterna, as massive and radiant as Coren remembered, shimmered like liquid light, its presence almost overwhelming. The two of them moved with purpose, their steps deliberate, as though this mental space was just another battlefield to traverse.

"Zeiric," Coren whispered, her voice trembling.

His eyes, deep and piercing, locked onto hers. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady.

"She was right," Zeiric said. "And she was wrong."

Coren's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"She was right," he continued, his voice carrying the weight of centuries, "that I needed to be stopped. I was consumed—by rage, by grief, by vengeance. I had become something unrecognisable, a force of destruction that would have burned the galaxy to ash if left unchecked."

Eterna pulsed beside him, its light dimming momentarily as though in agreement.

"But she was wrong," Zeiric said, his tone softening, "to sacrifice herself for me. I wasn't worth it."

Coren blinked, stunned by the raw admission.

"I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for what I became," Zeiric continued, his gaze distant, as though he were looking through the walls of her mental space and into the past. "Her actions—her sacrifice—stopped me, yes. They forced me to face what I had done, to see the destruction I had wrought. But the cost…" He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

Eterna's light shimmered again, and it spoke for the first time, its voice a deep, resonant hum that seemed to echo from every corner of the space. "Her actions forced us to confront our grief. To look beyond our pain and rage and see what remained of the galaxy we had nearly destroyed."

"I hated her for it," Zeiric admitted, his voice trembling with emotion. "At first, I hated her for betraying me, for trapping me. But over time… I realized she had been right to stop me. She was the only one who could have."

Coren stepped forward cautiously, her voice hesitant. "But you said she was wrong. If you understood why she did it, why do you think it was a mistake?"

Zeiric's gaze softened as he looked at her. "Because she gave up everything. Her life, her soul, her very existence. She tied herself to the machine because she believed it was the only way to save me—to save humanity. But I wasn't worth it. I wasn't worth her sacrifice. No one is. It took me many years but I was finally able to return your soul to the cycle, to at least give her rest"

Lyra, standing silently behind Coren, finally spoke. "Then why didn't you destroy the machine after all this time? Why didn't you set everyone free?"

Zeiric turned to her, his expression resolute. "Because it wasn't my decision to make."

"What?" Coren asked, her confusion clear.

"I gave up much to free her soul from the device," Zeiric said, his voice thick with emotion. "It took centuries of effort, countless sacrifices of my own. But the price to change a moment was finally worth it. Seeing you here, Coren, proves that I was right to release her soul. Her essence deserved freedom, to live and cycle as it was meant to."

Coren's breath hitched, her hand instinctively moving to touch Sol, who hovered protectively beside her.

"But the machine…" Zeiric continued, shaking his head. "That is another matter. I had no right to decide the direction of humanity. I had no right to impose my will on the future of our species. That choice belongs to those who came after me. To you."

Eterna pulsed again, its light growing brighter as it moved closer to Coren."The machine is not just a prison—it is a choice. A test. It waits for the ones who are ready to decide what humanity's future should be. "

Lyra crossed her arms, her expression sceptical. "And what if we're not ready? What if humanity still isn't capable of learning from its mistakes?"

Zeiric's lips curled into a faint, bittersweet smile. "Then perhaps the cycle must continue. But that, too, is your choice to make."

Coren looked between Zeiric and Eterna, her mind racing with questions, doubts, and fears. "Why me?" she asked finally. "Why us?"

Zeiric's expression softened further, a flicker of something almost paternal in his gaze. "Because your souls shine as brightly now as they did then," he said gently. "Because you both carry the best of them and yet are your own persons. You have the strength to do what I could not—to decide, not for yourself, but for all of humanity."

Eterna pulsed beside him, and the two began to step back, their forms fading slightly. Zeiric's voice echoed softly as he and Eterna dissolved into light. "Grow strong, and when the time comes, you will find your answer on Novatrix. But beware—you are not yet ready. Trust your companions. They will know."

And with that, they were gone, leaving Coren and Lyra standing in the dimmed purple of her mental space, the weight of his words lingering like a distant melody.