Astreon woke up with the feeling of being in the wrong place… inside his own body.
There was no pain. No dream.
But it felt as if he had slept deep within himself, still trying to rise.
He inhaled. The air was strange. Thicker.
The temple ceiling—once mere stone and ruin—now seemed full of contours he didn't recognize. As if its edges had aged while he slept… or he himself had changed too much to see them the same.
He sat up slowly. His throat was dry. His hands… steady.
The pendant still hung from his neck, but it no longer glowed. It was dim. Dead.
Even so, something remained—a subtle vibration—coming from within his chest. A rhythm not of his heart, but entwined with it.
What was that yesterday...? That light... that pain... those visions?
He ran his fingers across his temples, trying to hold his thoughts in place. But they slipped away like smoke between his fingers.
That wasn't a dream. I heard that voice. I saw that place.
And those images… who were those people? Were they real? Were they... me?
He stood, unsteady. As he took his first steps out of the ruins, he realized: the world was still there.
But he was no longer the same.
The daylight looked brighter. As if each ray carried eyes.
The forest no longer ignored him. The air didn't just touch him—it watched him.
A small deer stepped out from between the trees. Stopped just a few feet away.
It stood there. Staring.
Not afraid. Not threatening.
Just… recognition.
Astreon clutched the pendant at his chest.
What am I now?
He turned to glance at the temple one last time… and that's when he saw it.
A piece of the inner wall had collapsed.
Behind the stones, a sculpted figure had been revealed—ancient, covered in dry moss.
A broken circle at its center. Spirals around it.
Symbols he didn't know. But that his body remembered.
His skin prickled. The air froze.
And without him saying a word, the wind gently blew… and seemed to hear him.
Astreon closed his eyes.
I'm not alone in this anymore, am I...?
Far from there—beyond mountain ranges, enchanted deserts, and fortresses floating over mist-veiled valleys—there lay a plateau where echoes were older than the land.
There, on a floating stone platform between pillars carved with whirling runes, she sat in silence.
Young, yet bearing the presence of someone who walked between ages.
Her skin, the hue of jade in winter light, shimmered softly beneath the white veil that covered part of her face—a fabric as delicate as spiritual silk, hiding not flaws… but truths.
Sitting in meditation, her body was still—except for the eyes beneath the veil, which from time to time changed color without warning: from the calmest blue to the dull silver of an eclipsed moon… and back again.
The shifts seemed to hurt. Each change came with a breath exhaled in strain, as if every glimpse tore something inside her.
But then, she stopped.
Her eyes flashed silver just for a second—and in that impossible sliver of time, she felt it.
A shackle. A fragment. A new note in a broken cycle.
And she smiled.
It wasn't just any smile.
It was a movement so delicate, so perfectly measured, it could've been mistaken for kindness—if not for the destructive power it held. A smile that, if cast upon a throne, would bring empires to their knees. A smile that, when met with doubt… would choose the end.
She spoke—not loud, but with clarity enough for the wind to listen.
> "The threads of time and fate… twist before the fear of the future."
She paused, the smile still dancing on the edge of her veil.
> "Interesting."
The echo of her words continued drifting among the living runes.
And somewhere in the world, a part of the newly opened cycle shuddered… as if it had been noticed.
The temple was left behind.
Astreon didn't know if he left by will or instinct—he simply walked. One step after another, as if led by something that demanded no explanation… only acceptance.
The trees slowly pulled back around him. The moss looked greener where he stepped, the branches less hostile. There was no path to follow—but somehow, his feet knew where to go.
He felt the pendant resting quietly on his chest. Cold again. But now, its cold didn't bother him.
It's like it went back to sleep… after waking me up.
His stomach growled. His head felt heavy. But there was no despair. Only exhaustion layered deep, ancient. Each step hurt as if awakening muscles never used before—not just of his body, but of his soul.
The Fragment remained silent.
But he felt watched. As if every stone, every branch, every fold in the world around him was testing him.
Are you really going to keep going? Even without knowing where this path leads?
Yes. He was.
A small clearing opened up ahead, and for the first time since leaving Valek, Astreon stopped—not to run, but to breathe.
There, between the leaves and soft light, he sat upon a stone covered in lichen. Closed his eyes.
Deep in his chest, a subtle warmth pulsed. Like an ember that remains after the fire's burned out.
If this is the beginning of something… let it take me where I've never been.
Not to a home. But maybe… to a place where I don't have to lie to myself.
He stayed there a while. Unafraid. Unhurried.
And for the first time, the cycle moved with him.