I am meant to lead this world into a new era. And yet, the more I see, the more doubt coils within me.

  Elindros unfurls before me—expansive, vibrant, and pulsing with life. In every winding street, across every face, I find no hint of sorrow, no flicker of unrest. There is no murmur of longing for change to be found, not even in the quietest corners of this city. Is it truly only those who dwell in the shadows who dream of a world turned anew?

  Why is it that in no dimension true peace can be found? Why does the flame of resentment smolder, unyielding, in every heart? I feel it—murmuring in the shadows, roaring through dreams, lurking in memory.

  How am I to end this endless cycle?

  And am I even the one meant to do so?

  Coren Veyr lifts the Astralis into the air. Its gentle glow flickers ever so faintly, as though it senses my unease. I wonder—can Aetherion feel fear?

  Nyssa steps beside him, her hands folded reverently over her abdomen. Her expression remains unreadable, yet her gaze betrays her awareness of the power her lord holds in his grasp.

  “So, how does this thing work?” Coren Veyr asks at last, as if he were speaking of an ordinary tool. His disrespect fills me with anger. “Do I smash it open? Or whisper some arcane words?”

  I cross my arms. “The first time I entered the Nexari, I was with Zyar Velqorin and Sylas. I don’t know how to reach it on my own.”

  He chuckles quietly. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “I’m not lying!” I snap. Heat surges into my cheeks, and I can’t stop it. “Please—let me return to my people. Your leader will surely have the answers you seek.”

  Coren scoffs, tapping a finger against his temple. “So na?ve, Vespera. The Tenth Vessel of the Sonatius Mortaeda—and you expect me to believe you don’t know how to wield one of his greatest relics?” His voice lowers, smooth and menacing. “Do you care for this orb?”

  A knot tightens in my throat. The mere thought of him harming Aetherion makes my hand rise on instinct. “Please… don’t hurt her.”

  His smile is pure venom. A soft tsk-tsk escapes him, tongue clicking in mocking rhythm.

  “Vespera,” he says at last, and when I meet his gaze, his eyes gleam like frozen silver, “I’ll help you find your path. But only if you help me place Velsoth in the hands of its rightful ruler. Do that, and I’ll show you the way to the Sonatius Mortaeda.”

  My breath catches. “But… how?”

  “My shadows.” The words fall from his lips with almost tender affection. “They can see even between dimensions. A part of the Primordial One is sealed within—and I will take you to it. But only if you agree to marry me.” He leans in slightly, his stare locking onto mine. “Be the woman at my side, and I swear I will protect you for all eternity. No one will ever harm you again.”

  A union with the Sonatius Mortaeda for my freedom? Freedom I’ve never truly had? Ridiculous. My life has always felt like a prison, and I’ve gained nothing from it. This is no different. I have no real choice, so I might as well enter the Nexari on my own terms.

  My hand rises slowly, fingers reaching toward the Astralis. Coren Veyr watches me with a look caught somewhere between suspicion and curiosity. Two seconds pass. Perhaps three. Then he steps forward and places it in my hands.

  Zyar once told me, as we stood upon the still waters of the mortal realm, to let it slide from my hand. But what will the Astralis do this time? Will it accept me—or turn away?

  My heart hammers against my throat. The tension is etched into my face, plain to see for anyone truly looking. There is no escape—unless Rhea Varne were to burst through that door once more. But that is impossible. Haldron Krythar has just left to stand guard on Coren Veyr’s command.

  Now, only Nyssa, Coren Veyr, and I remain. Nyssa stares at the ground as if hoping it might swallow her whole. And Coren stands like a fortress, unmoved, unyielding.

  I take a deep breath. The fear that this might be my end makes my knees weaken. Then, I tilt my hand, letting the Astralis slip through my fingers. Its smooth surface brushes against my skin—a soft, cool touch. It feels like it’s whispering: trust me.

  Before it can strike the floor, it halts—hovering in midair. As before, it bursts into radiant light that blinds me. Just seconds pass before the glow fades once more.

  “The gateway to the Nexari,” Coren Veyr’s voice breaks the silence, filled with awe and disbelief. I turn toward the light where it bloomed, and see the rift once again. My heart lurches painfully in my chest.

  Coren snaps his fingers, signaling for me to go first. Whether he’s wary of a trap or the Nexari itself, I can’t tell. The unknown sends a chill through me, but I refuse to let him see my hesitation. Sylas and Mirael’s lives are at stake. One step at a time, I move toward the rift. I can feel its pull now—a force drawing me in, impossible to ignore.

  This wasn’t how it felt the last time.

  “…But life and death, forever entwined in their endless dance…”

  That voice.

  I recognize it at once—the same one that sang only for me when I first entered the Nexari. A sweet, otherworldly melody that carved itself deep into my memory. Never could I forget it.

  Once again, the Nexari itself rises before me like a wall. The moment I cross the rift, I’m falling—free and fast. Below, an endless ocean stretches out, shimmering in a surreal hue of violet-pink. The water rushes toward me—but before it can touch me, I’m suddenly standing on solid ground. Around me unfolds a field of deep orange grass, soft and swaying.

  Above, no less than seventy suns blaze in the sky, golden and radiant. Their heat should scorch me, burn the air from my lungs—yet instead, it wraps me in gentle warmth. I feel their touch on my skin like a welcome.

  The in-between dimension greets me once more in all its shimmering glory. Zyar once told me that during one of his visits, the Nexari met him with ruthless cold, the ground beneath his feet vanishing again and again. I suppose I should be grateful that it still greets me kindly.

  “So many chambermaids in the past have told stories of the horrors of the Nexari,” Coren Veyr says from behind me.

  He and Nyssa are only a few steps away. Nyssa is shaking, her eyes darting around like an animal trapped in a corner. But Coren Veyr? He smiles, that same smug, victorious grin, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

  He doesn’t understand. The stunning view he enjoys—he owes it to me. If Zyar was right, the Nexari shapes itself for the one who enters. But why does it always focus on me?

  “Well then, shall we?” Coren Veyr grins, clearly pleased with himself.

  “You’ve never been here before,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. I instantly want to slap myself for not considering this sooner. How could I have blindly followed him here without thinking about it? “How do you know where to lead me?”

  “The Nexari will guide us,” he replies, his voice sharp.

  No more explanation. No hint of a plan—just those words. And so, we begin walking north.

  The suns above stay motionless. I stare directly at them, but my eyes don’t burn. It’s as if they’re too far away to hurt me—or maybe they aren’t real at all.

  Despite the strange beauty surrounding me, a sense of unease settles in. Coren Veyr’s presence does nothing to calm me. If anything, it makes it worse. A quiet discomfort stirs inside me. How can he possibly help me if he doesn’t even know where he’s going?

  Nyssa, his servant, says nothing. As long as no command reaches her ears, she follows us silently, like a shadow. Only now do I realize how eerily quiet it is here—there’s no wind, no birdsong, not even the rustle of grass. Everything that should be alive, yet… there’s only silence.

  Sometimes, I hear Nyssa nervously swallowing or Coren Veyr clicking his tongue in impatience when something catches his attention. And then there’s my own heartbeat, so loud it feels like it could break through my chest.

  Minutes pass—or maybe it’s just seconds. Time feels strange in the Nexari. We’ve been walking for a while now, and still, no one has crossed our path.

  “You want to lead Velsoth,” I say. “Does Rhea agree to that?”

  “My little sister doesn’t need to agree,” he hisses. “She’s a child. That our father named her heir is nothing but a joke.”

  Our father? So Coren Veyr really sees Darian Varne, the former ruler of Velsoth, as his own blood. What twisted path has led him to betray his half-sister? Rhea would never accept him as her successor. She’s too determined to follow their father’s final wishes.

  Best not to provoke him further. I can see that he doesn’t stand by my side out of trust or loyalty. His only allegiance is to his own ambitions.

  And yet, as I walk beside him—a man who is no friend of mine—I feel a strange unease stirring in my gut. He claimed to have never set foot in the Nexari, yet he scans the landscape as though he’s searching for something. As if he is waiting for something.

  Then, without warning, a sound.

  Soft, barely more than a whisper in the silence. But it’s there.

  And it doesn’t come from any of us.

  Coren Veyr halts abruptly. His posture remains relaxed, but I catch the faintest twitch in his fingertips. His shadows stir beneath him, coiled like a beast waiting to be unleashed. I follow his gaze—but there’s nothing. Just the strange, unmoving landscape of the Nexari.

  Nyssa hasn’t noticed. Her eyes remain fixed to the ground, her hands clenched into trembling fists.

  Then a sound cuts through the silence—a deep, throaty noise.

  A laugh. Amused, dark, and unmistakably near.

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  “Ah… visitors.”

  A shiver runs down my spine. The voice is rough, but smooth enough to make me uneasy.

  A shadow shifts in the landscape. At first, it’s just a blur, but soon it takes shape—a man, tall in an unnatural way, with long limbs and a black robe that seems to absorb the light around him. His hair is silver. His eyes... not like the other Duskborn I’ve seen. Where Alora, Celestara, and Seraphina Nyrelis had serpent-like pupils, this man’s eyes are voids. Deep, empty sockets that draw the gaze in like an endless abyss.

  “Finally,” he murmurs, brushing his long fingers across his chin. “I was beginning to think your path had taken another turn.”

  His eyes fix on me, studying me closely. Analyzing.

  “Vespera Entium.”

  He says my name as if he’s found something he’s been searching for—like a forgotten toy pulled from an old collection.

  “How fortunate that you’ve decided to join us.”

  I glance at Coren Veyr. He doesn’t look surprised. Of course he doesn’t.

  A knot tightens in my stomach. The man has silver hair. The Nyrelis sisters mentioned that only the Losniw have that trait. It’s how they saw through me so easily. Is this man one of them?

  He smiles slightly, as if reading my thoughts, and nods in approval. “Sharp mind.”

  Coren Veyr doesn’t seem to understand. I don’t explain. He’s kept me in the dark long enough.

  Instead of asking questions, Coren Veyr just looks at the man with a demanding expression.

  “So?” he says. “What about our deal? I’ve done my part.”

  The man — with deep, black voids where his eyes should be — gives a small nod. He doesn’t glance at Coren. His attention is solely on me, as if I am the only one worth noticing.

  “Very well,” he says, finally turning his gaze.

  Coren Veyr grabs Nyssa by the arm and yanks her forward. Until now, she’d been trailing behind us like a shadow — silent, unnoticed. Now she stumbles, surprised, as Coren Veyr shoves her ahead. She drops to her knees.

  She looks back at him, confused and terrified.

  “C-Coren,” she stammers. “You said you loved me. You said you were going to marry me. That you’d make me your wife—”

  Coren snorts and clicks his tongue, wagging a finger like she’s a misbehaving child.

  “Nyssa Orwen. A servant girl from the lower ranks of Velsoth. Do you honestly believe someone like me would ever marry someone like you?”

  He laughs quietly, clearly enjoying himself.

  “Of course I whispered sweet things to you. I needed you to warm my bed. But give you my name?” He gestures to me with a sweeping hand. “Why would I settle for you when I could have her?”

  Nyssa looks at me. Her eyes are wide and full of grief — not anger. Maybe because she knows what’s coming. Or maybe because she’s finally seeing the truth about the man she trusted.

  Coren Veyr doesn’t stop.

  “She’s the vessel of the Sonatius Mortaeda. And she’s a Losniw. Do you have any idea how rare that is? No one outside of Losnat has ever married one of them. Imagine the children that union would produce. I’m not throwing that away for a housemaid.”

  He turns back to the man, grinning.

  “She’s yours. Do what you want, Duskborn.”

  At first, the man doesn’t react. He seems entirely unaffected by Coren’s arrogance. But when he hears the word Duskborn, something shifts. Zyar used that word too — back when I first stepped into the Nexari. It must be what people from Elindros call the beings who live here.

  I don’t know what he’s going to do to Nyssa. I’m afraid to guess. Will he treat her like Lord Louweris tried to treat me?

  He kneels in front of her. Nyssa trembles, her hands clenching into fists on her lap. She glances at Coren Veyr one last time — but he doesn’t even flinch. There’s no mercy in his eyes.

  The Duskborn lifts her chin with one hand, making her look into the empty voids where his eyes should be. I want to stop him. I want to scream, to run, to pull her away. But I stand frozen, unable to move, knowing exactly what is about to happen. He stares into her soul, and something inside her breaks.

  She starts choking. Violently. Her hands fly to her throat, her body convulsing. And then I see them — ghostly shapes rising from her chest. First three, then more, until they spiral out into dozens. Fragments of a soul, shattered like glass.

  I turn to Coren Veyr, hoping he’ll finally see what’s happening. But his face is blank. Cold.

  The Duskborn brings his hands together slowly. The floating shards tremble, then collapse inward. He presses his palms tighter. The fragments twist, squeeze together, merge into a single, pulsing form.

  A blast of energy tears through the air. It knocks me flat. Even Coren Veyr stumbles.

  Then, the man raises his hands sharply. The soul lifts free from Nyssa’s body — bright lines trailing down her arms, across her throat, up into her head, like invisible strings being cut.

  The man turns to me now. His movements are fluid, almost graceful, as he draws strange patterns into the air with his fingers. Suddenly, Nyssa and Coren Veyr appear before me — frozen in time.

  “The real Velsothier can no longer see us,” the stranger says as he steps closer. At his fingertips, those glowing threads flicker — the same ones I saw rising from Nyssa’s body moments ago. “Time stands still for him. But not for us.”

  “Because we are Losniw,” I answer quietly.

  “Indeed,” he confirms.

  “Who are you?”

  “A nobody,” he replies. “Like all of us who wander between dimensions.”

  “You’re not a nobody if you carry a name,” I counter. “You’re a Losniw. An Entium. So tell me your name.”

  I don’t know where this sudden boldness comes from. Maybe it’s the weight of needing the truth — no matter how dangerous it might be.

  “I was once called Veydris Entium,” he says at last. “Now they call me the False Duskborn. Not even the dwellers of the Nexari accept me as one of their own. I belong neither to Elindros… nor to this place.”

  His head dips slightly. "You’ve probably asked yourself why I look like this—why there are no eyes in my skull, why my limbs are unnaturally long, why I seem more creature than man.

  I nod. I had wondered — but I never judged him. Not even silently. And I have no intention of starting now. I’ve never been someone who measures a being by their form, and I never will be.

  “What is this before us?” I ask, gesturing to the frozen scene. I don’t want to press further into his past — it’s not mine to claim.

  The two figures look like Nyssa and Coren Veyr, yet I know they aren’t the real ones. The true versions still stand beside me, unmoving.

  “The gift of the Losniw reaches far beyond thought-weaving,” says the False Duskborn. “Soul-weaving… that is the true art of our village.”

  “Soul-weaving? But how does that even work?”

  “Humans, Elindine, even beings from other realms,” he says calmly, “are all made up of fragments — memories, layered upon memories. It’s what we are. When someone remembers you, they don’t remember your essence, not really. They remember moments. Feelings. The imprint you left on their soul. No one remembers bare existence — only experience.”

  “So that means… you wove Nyssa’s soul,” I whisper, horrified.

  He nods.

  “That’s why Coren Veyr didn’t react. He couldn’t see what was happening. So Nyssa is now…”

  “Yes,” he says simply. “She is dead. The Velsothier offered me her soul in exchange for safe passage for you both — back to the human world.”

  I want to scream at him. To curse him for what he’s done. But what would it change? It’s already happened.

  And maybe… Nyssa would’ve done the same. If I understand it right, she was so blinded by love that she followed Coren Veyr’s plan without question. I imagine he assured her I would die in the Nexari anyway.

  My heart clenches.

  Another life, lost because of me.

  I try to stay upright, to cling to the thought that there was no other way. But it doesn’t help. As distant as Nyssa was, as little as she cared for me… the guilt remains. Why does it always end this way?

  “This,” the False Duskborn begins, “is the strongest memory of Nyssa Orwen. An Elindine from the village of Velsoth. Born into a family too consumed by their own pain to see the child before them — a girl who only ever wanted to be loved. At fourteen, she ran away. Her parents, in their desperation, had begun renting her out to other men just to make ends meet. In that time, Nyssa Orwen was completely alone… and so her path led her into the arms of Coren Veyr. He was sixteen. His mother had just married Darian Varne, the then-leader of Velsoth. Coren fell for her instantly and promised her protection. Despite all her wounds, despite the cruelty she endured, she never spoke a word against her parents. She chose instead to start over.”

  Why is he telling me this? What am I supposed to do with this knowledge?

  Nyssa is dead.

  And he chose that outcome.

  “And now… the memory Nyssa Orwen clung to most,” he says, releasing the threads he’s held all this time.

  The frozen scene before me stirs to life.

  Nyssa stands before Coren Veyr. Her eyes are bright — full of hope.

  “Yes, my beloved?” she says with a smile. “Did you call for me?”

  “My Nyssa, come,” he replies, extending his hand to her. “I have wonderful news.”

  Confused, she places her hand in his. Coren Veyr gently pulls her into his arms, kissing her forehead. Nyssa closes her eyes, sinking into the warmth of this moment. I can feel her heartbeat – it thunders in my ears.

  “We will marry soon,” Coren Veyr says.

  Nyssa looks at him, her brow furrowing.

  “But... how? You told me your father is adamantly against a marriage to a woman of my status. Has he changed his mind?”

  “No, unfortunately not,” Coren Veyr admits with a sigh. “Today, he informed me that I must marry Marina Feroy, one of King Valron Feroy’s daughters, so that I can live in Thalvaren, with the rest of the royal family.”

  “But… that’s wonderful, my love,” Nyssa says, though her voice falters. I see the sorrow in her eyes. “If you marry into the royal family, you’ll have a good life.”

  “What good is a life in which you don’t exist?” he replies, his voice low but intense.

  She looks at him in surprise. He strokes her cheek, kissing her gently.

  “I will not marry anyone else. Especially not Marina Feroy,” Coren Veyr promises. “That’s why my men and I have devised a plan to accelerate my claim as the leader of Velsoth.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I will end my father’s life,” he says, with that same triumphant smile that sent chills down my spine when we first met. “His death will appear natural. No one will suspect a thing. Recently, my men discovered two Syvrali girls who had been wandering in our territory. They were captured – and fortunately, neither my father nor his followers know about it. The two had fled from their village, and for a while, they were my prisoners. It’s fate that they fell into my hands. Syvrali possess the ability to see visions and communicate between dimensions – a gift they do not use because it costs them their lives. I’ve hired a Duskborn to carry out the plan.”

  “You’re doing all this… for me?” Nyssa asks, overwhelmed.

  “I’m doing it because I love you.”

  The memory dissolves instantly into the air. Was that truly Nyssa’s most treasured memory? How tragic that it was, in the end, a lie that held such significance for her.

  “Coren Veyr knew that Darian Varne, his stepfather, wanted to marry him off to Marina Feroy because he was not intended to be the next leader,” explains the false Duskborn, and I nod, understanding. “Marina Feroy is the daughter of Valron Feroy and his sixth wife, Arlethra Feroy. Of all his daughters, she is one of the less desirable – neither particularly slim nor exceptionally beautiful. Nyssa knew deep in her heart that this was one of the reasons Coren Veyr could never envision marrying her.”

  He falls silent for a moment, looking at me intently. “Seralyne and Nirellai Tharavos are the Syvrali whose lives were sacrificed so that Coren Veyr could make contact with me.”

  “So, you wove their souls too?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

  The man nods. “Indeed. Sad souls, whose fates were already determined by their origins. They fled their homes, hoping for a life of freedom – only to walk straight into the arms of death.”

  “That means Coren Veyr knew from the moment he learned about the arranged marriage that Darian Varne would never consider him as a successor,” I conclude, shaken. Again, the false Duskborn nods. “Was it his obsession with power that led him to sacrifice Nyssa? Or did he never love her?”

  “I only tasted Nyssa’s soul – so I only know her perspective of this story,” he replies, shrugging indifferently. “Anyway, this was the first step of soul-weaving. Now, to the main attraction.”

  The false Duskborn raises his hands towards the place where the threads now lie on the ground. They had come from Nyssa’s body earlier – my suspicion had been confirmed: her soul had been controlled, like a puppet on strings.

  With an invisible force, the man pulls the threads into his hands. They resemble spiderwebs in both appearance and texture – fine, silvery strands that dissolve on his tongue, as though they were made to vanish there. One after another, he places them into his mouth and swallows them, devouring every last thread.

  I grimace in disgust, yet my curiosity keeps my eyes fixed on the scene. What were these threads? Were they truly Nyssa’s soul – or just a tool for the false Duskborn to separate body and soul?

  He swallows them. Suddenly, a scream echoes behind me. Startled, I turn around – and see that Coren Veyr has regained consciousness. But he is not the one who uttered that bone-chilling cry. It is Nyssa. She, who should be dead, is shrieking and writhing.

  And yet, I recognize it with certainty: the woman before me is no longer alive. It is the false Duskborn who is inflicting this torment on her.

  Anger flares in my chest as I look at him. Gone is the creature with too-long limbs and hollow eye sockets. In its place stands someone who looks at me with the same gray eyes I’ve seen staring back from my own reflection.

  The last bit of life in Nyssa is drained from her. Her body collapses completely. Coren Veyr looks down thoughtfully at his once-beloved. Several seconds pass before he turns away and steps over her lifeless body, joining us.

  “Well then, let’s set off on our journey to the human world!” Coren Veyr says cheerfully, clapping his hands. “I can’t wait to marry you, my beautiful Vespera.”

  “Does it truly leave you cold that she had to die for you?” I hiss, disgusted by his coldness. “This woman loved you more than her own life!”

  “That’s how it should be,” Coren Veyr replies unfazed. “Nyssa was the right woman for me for a time because she worshiped me. Now, she’s of no use. She was simply a means to an end.”

  His words make my blood boil. I want to shout at him. I want to make him accountable for her death. But he never held a knife to her throat. He didn’t force her into anything.

  It was only her loving heart that led her to her doom.