Lucan awoke to the scent of something sharp and herbal drifting through the chamber.
It wasn't like waking up on Earth. There was no sun, no birds, no distant hum of traffic or rustling of leaves. Instead, the soft, pulsing glow above him bathed the room in a muted golden hue, like bioluminescent honey. The air was warm but dry, with just a trace of metallic tang—almost like a cave breathing through old lungs.
He blinked, adjusting to the light. The ceiling still moved—gently, rhythmically, like the inside of a living creature. The translucent surface rippled faintly with each breath he took, as if mirroring him. Or maybe not him. Maybe something deeper.
Lyra wasn't there.
The realization struck like a splash of cold water.
He sat up too quickly. The cocoon-bed shifted beneath him, compensating for his movement, but a sharp throb flared through his neck and spine. He winced, hand flying to the base of his skull.
Still there. That low hum. The implant, nestled into his nervous system like a parasitic seed.
But the language—it was still present too. Still floating in his head. Words, symbols, entire phrases he shouldn't have known. They hovered at the edge of thought, ready when needed. He didn't know if he hated it or found it incredible.
His bare feet met the floor—a smooth surface with the texture of leather stretched over stone. As soon as he touched it, pale blue veins of light lit up around his soles, weaving a gentle path toward the room's exit.
He hesitated, then followed.
The corridor outside was unlike anything he'd imagined. The entire enclave was carved from what looked like bone and coral fused together, polished to a glossy sheen. Living walls pulsed softly, emitting a low resonance, and strange plants bloomed from vertical grooves, their petals twitching in response to his presence.
He descended a spiraling ramp that curled along the perimeter of the dome. It opened up to a wide platform overlooking the heart of the settlement.
The enclave was enormous—like a hollowed mountain turned inside out. Homes and structures blended seamlessly into the environment, spiraling up the walls and branching across bridges made of braided light and matter. Everything felt grown, not built.
He spotted Lyra before anyone else.
She stood at the edge of a lookout platform with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Thal'ryn and Kaa-thyr stood near her, quietly speaking. She didn't move when Lucan approached, but her shoulders relaxed slightly.
"You look less like you just got hit by a comet." she muttered without looking at him.
Lucan smirked. "Thanks. I feel like I only got hit by half a comet now."
Thal'ryn turned, his gaze steady. "Your recovery has been swift. The assembler did not reject you. That is rare."
Lucan stood beside Lyra, eyes scanning the sprawling bioluminescent city beneath them. Lights moved across the lower levels—beings of all shapes and sizes, walking or gliding through the corridors. Some shimmered as they passed, their forms half-solid, half-light. Others wore armor that looked fossilized, ancient.
"What is this place, really?" Lucan asked. "You said it was a former guardian world, but… it looks more like a sanctuary."
"A sanctuary born of desperation." Thal'ryn replied. "When Velkros's forces breached the outer boundary, we became too exposed. Those who survived gathered here—those who would not bow, or flee. The enclave is hidden, but not invulnerable."
Lucan narrowed his eyes. "So there are others like you? Other enclaves?"
"Yes. Scattered across forgotten worlds, buried ruins, fading stars. The resistance still lives, but it is fragmented. And the Fold… complicates everything."
Lucan glanced briefly at Lyra. She stood still, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. The conversation continued in a strange, fluid tongue—and yet Lucan understood it all. He glanced back at her, unsure.
She caught the look and raised an eyebrow. "You're the only one who can understand them right now." she said dryly. "So don't zone out."
Right. Of course. No implant. She was counting on him.
"Right." Lucan muttered, and turned back.
Kaa-thyr stepped forward. "Nothing that passes through the Fold is untouched. It reacts to thought, memory… desire. It reshapes reality as it sees fit. You were brought here because something inside you resonated with its current."
Lucan frowned. "You mean like fate?"
"Fate is a word for patterns we do not yet understand." Thal'ryn said. "But yes, perhaps."
Lucan's gaze dropped to the movement below again. He noticed small children—or what passed for children—chasing floating spheres of light. Laughing. Living.
"How do they survive here?" he asked.
"Some are native. Others were brought like you—drawn from collapsing timelines or consumed realities. We protect who we can. Train them. Educate them. In time, they may take up the mantle of guardianship."
Lucan nodded slowly.
"Lyra." he turned, translating quickly for her. "They said… a lot of the people here were brought in from other realities. Collapsing ones."
Her face tightened. "So… we're just two more strays."
"Or bait." Lucan said.
She frowned. "That's… oddly comforting."
Lucan translated her joke for Thal'ryn, who gave a curious half-smile.
"You said something last night." she said, more seriously now. "About Velkros sending creations. Watchers."
Lucan relayed the question.
Thal'ryn nodded. "They appear where reality thins. Probes at first. Then invaders. If your world has seen one… it will see more."
Lucan exchanged a glance with her. She didn't need translation for that part. The meaning had already struck.
"You said some guardians are still out there. Could they help us?"
"Perhaps. But they are scattered. Many no longer answer calls. Some have lost hope. Others have fallen into madness."
"But you haven't."
"I remember what it meant to fight for something more than survival."
Thal'ryn's gaze softened, the sharp edge of his warrior's demeanor melting just a little. "Enough talk for now. You've traveled far and look the part." He gestured toward a side chamber. "Come. Change into something suitable, and eat with us. You'll need strength for what lies ahead."
Lucan exchanged a glance with Lyra, relief washing over him. His clothes hung in tatters, stained, hardly fit for a battle—or even a decent conversation. The thought of changing into something fresh felt like a small luxury.
The chamber they entered was unlike anything Lucan expected. Soft, ambient light spilled from woven fibers in the walls, casting a warm glow over racks of clothing made from strange materials. The fabrics shimmered subtly, like woven starlight, but felt strangely soft and warm to the touch.
Lucan peeled off his torn clothes slowly, feeling the weariness settle into his bones. He tugged on a new outfit that molded gently to his body, lightweight but sturdy—something designed for movement and protection, not show. The garment shifted colors slightly as he moved, blending into the environment like a chameleon.
Lyra was already dressed in her new attire, the fabric fitting her like a second skin. Her expression was unreadable as always, but the ease in her movements was a silent acknowledgment of the small comfort the clothes offered. She twirled a loose strand of hair around her finger as she glanced at Lucan.
They sat across from each other on smooth stone benches carved into the enclave's walls, a low table between them. Thal'ryn had disappeared briefly, returning now with a low tray carrying bowls filled with a soft, glowing substance. The aroma was unfamiliar—earthy and sweet, with a hint of spice that teased the senses.
"Eat." Thal'ryn said simply. "It will nourish more than just your body."
Lucan eyed the glowing food cautiously, then scooped a spoonful. The taste hit his tongue like warm sunlight—rich, layered, almost alive with energy. It was unlike anything he'd ever had before. As he swallowed, a soothing warmth spread through his chest, easing the gnawing fatigue he hadn't fully realized was there.
Lyra took her turn, her lips barely curving into a smile. "Looks like you needed that more than you thought."
Lucan wiped a bit of the glowing food from his lip and grinned. "Maybe I should just keep wearing that beggar outfit. It suits me better—makes me look mysterious."
Lyra snorted, shaking her head. "Mystery or mess, there's a fine line."
Thal'ryn chuckled softly, a deep, resonant sound that filled the chamber. "Perhaps, but your strength will be needed. Not your fashion sense."
Lyra added with a teasing glint, "I hope you won't be insisting on the ratty cloak as your signature look."
"Hey! That cloak had sentimental value."
"Sentimental to the rats, maybe."
The enclave's quiet hum wrapped around them like a gentle embrace, softening the weight of their journey. For a brief moment, the uncertainty and fear receded, replaced by fragile, unspoken hope—that maybe here, they could find something more than mere survival.
Finishing his last bite, Thal'ryn motioned toward a narrow stairwell behind the platform. "Come. There is one more thing you must see."
They followed him down a winding corridor that grew darker as they descended. The walls became rougher, less refined—closer to raw stone than living tissue.
At last, they entered a small, circular chamber. It was lined with floating glyphs—hovering symbols of light, each one rotating slowly in place. In the center of the room stood a pedestal, and on it, a crystal the size of a heart.
Thal'ryn said, "This, is a memory seed. Ancient tech, predating even the guardian wars. It holds a record of the last contact made between this world… and the others."
Lucan stepped forward. "You want me to see it?"
"It may respond to you. It has not responded to us in centuries."
He reached out—then paused. "What if it hurts me?"
Thal'ryn's expression didn't change. "Then we will know you are not the one."
Lucan placed his fingers against the crystal.
It pulsed. Once.
Then everything went white.
[End of Chapter 12]