The grass ended abruptly, replaced by ground that gleamed like polished midnight.
Black glass stretched to the horizon, obsidian formations jutting skyward like frozen screams. The sky darkened—not with clouds, but with atmospheric thickness, as though reality itself grew dense here.
Five days into the obsidian wastes, and the world no longer followed familiar rules.
Wildlife moved through the glass fields, but nothing looked wholly natural.
Glassback Lizards—bodies semi-translucent, organs faintly visible through crystalline scales—moved in herds of twenty, reflecting light like living prisms. Ashen Deer with gray fur and pulsing ember veins beneath their skin walked with eyes that reflected light like polished mirrors, breath visible even in warm air, heat radiating from within. Silent Ravens flew overhead in formations, wings making no sound. Perfect silence, even when dozens passed.
One Ashen Deer separated from its herd, approaching Draven directly. No fear. Just curiosity.
He extended his hand slowly. The deer sniffed once, then pressed its muzzle against his palm.
The touch brought sensation: Ancient. Changed. Adapted over generations.
Sylvara stood beside him, watching. "Anomaly zones do not corrupt. They reveal. These creatures chose to remain when the world shifted, and resonance rewrote them into forms that could survive. Slow evolution, across centuries."
Draven pulled his journal from his pack, sketched quickly—the deer's ember veins, the pattern of heat-glow, the mirror-eyes that suggested more than instinct.
"Controlled evolution," he murmured. "If we understand how, we could guide beasts safely through transformation."
The deer huffed once—almost approval—and bounded back to its herd.
By afternoon, they navigated through a maze of obsidian pillars—twenty meters tall, smooth as polished glass, arranged in patterns that felt almost intentional.
One scout shouted a test call. The echo returned five seconds later, words reversed.
Petran, one of Thea's engineers, deployed acoustic scanners. "The glass isn't reflecting sound—it's storing it. Then releasing fragments when disturbed."
They moved carefully, and the pillars began to speak.
Not their words. Ancient voices, layered, overlapping:
"...dimensional breach expanding..."
"...cannot return home..."
"...this place is prison and refuge both..."
Draven stopped walking, hand pressed against one pillar. The surface was warm.
"Memory stone," Sylvara said quietly. "This place remembers what the world forgot."
Mira's hand moved across her journal, recording phonetically. She couldn't translate yet, but she preserved every syllable.
Draven whispered to the stone: "Who were you?"
The pillar pulsed once, releasing a final fragment: "...we who survived..."
Then silence.
The expedition continued, but everyone felt it now—the weight of walking through a graveyard that refused to die.
Two days deeper into the wastes, the Shattered Spire rose from the glass plains like a broken fang.
Black stone tower split vertically, both halves leaning apart as though the earth itself had tried to rip it in two. Between them: a wound of air that pulsed with faint green light.
But it was the walls that stopped them.
Carvings covered every surface—not decorative, instructional. Star charts that didn't match Theia's current sky. Geometric patterns showing resonance waves. Diagrams of celestial bodies in configurations Draven had never seen.
And repeatedly, carved larger than everything else: a single symbol.
Not twelve symbols. One.
The symbol for Life, glowing green.
Mira approached a section of wall, brushing ash away. "These star charts... these aren't Theia's constellations."
Sylvara traced one with her staff. "No. These are from another sky. Another universe, perhaps."
Draven stepped forward, and the Grimoire of Life manifested unbidden—floating beside him, pages turning slowly.
The Life symbol on the spire began to glow.
Not twelve symbols activating in sequence. Just one, pulsing brighter and brighter until the light was almost painful.
Then the stone moved.
Not breaking—flowing, like water given form. The entrance reshaped itself into an archway, darkness beyond.
A voice echoed from within, not speaking—resonating directly in their minds:
"Bearer of the Lost Fragment. Enter. Learn what was taken from us."
Ryl's hand went to her knife. "Orders?"
Draven looked at the darkness, then at his team. "We came for truth. Let's see if we're ready for it."
They descended.
The first chamber was circular, fifty meters across, domed ceiling lost in shadow. The walls were covered floor-to-ceiling with glowing inscriptions—constantly shifting, updating themselves like living records.
At the center: a crystalline projection device, dormant.
Draven approached cautiously. The moment he came within five meters, the device activated.
Light flooded the chamber—not painful, immersive. The floor vanished beneath their feet, replaced by the void of space.
They stood on nothing, surrounded by stars.
Before them: Theia.
But not the Theia they knew.
This world had two moons. The constellations matched the star charts outside—unfamiliar, beautiful, alien. The planet itself looked more vibrant: greener oceans, denser forests, cities that glowed with soft light rather than Soulsteel's harsh blue.
Mira gasped. "It's... beautiful."
The projection shifted.
A civilization thrived below. Cities where humans and beasts walked together—no chains, no tattoos, no fear. Just partnership. The images were brief but clear: a farmer riding a Stonehide through fields, both content. A Noble wolf sleeping beside children in a town square. A King-tier hawk carrying messages between settlements, landing to be fed by grateful hands.
Draven felt something break in his chest. "This was real. This was how it was supposed to be."
Then the sky split open.
A rift tore through the heavens—not slowly, violently. Reality itself seemed to scream. At the edges of the rift: shadows. Not solid, not quite formless. Shapes that felt like watchers.
Espers.
Sylvara whispered: "Fate-wielders. Those who see threads we cannot."
The rift widened. Theia began to pull toward it—not flying, being dragged. Earthquakes shattered cities. Oceans surged. The sky itself tore in strips like canvas.
One of Theia's moons shattered. The other simply... vanished.
The world screamed through dimensional space—colors that had no names, sounds that weren't sound.
Then: stillness.
Theia emerged into a new universe. Different stars. One moon remaining. The planet itself looked wounded—great scars across continents where reality had torn imperfectly.
Where the scars formed: anomaly zones appeared, glowing with unstable light.
The projection showed survivors crawling from rubble. Beasts and humans both, terrified, scattered.
The final image: Theia alone in alien sky, isolated, cut off from everything it had known.
The projection ended.
The room returned. Silence held for long seconds.
Mira's voice shook. "The entire world... is in the wrong universe?"
Draven turned to the walls, reading inscriptions the Codex translated:
"We were taken. Not destroyed, but displaced. The Espers moved us like pieces on a board we cannot see. Why? We do not know. But we know this: we are not home. And we cannot return."
Another inscription, lower:
"The anomaly zones are not corruption. They are wounds—places where reality was stitched imperfectly when we were pulled through the between-space. They will not heal. They will only worsen, unless..."
The text ended, unfinished.
Draven sat heavily on the stone floor. "Everything we are... is because we were ripped out of where we belonged."
Sylvara placed a hand on his shoulder. "Belonging is choice, not origin. We survived. That makes this home now."
But her voice carried doubt even she couldn't hide.
Notes:
Obsidian Wastes: Volcanic glass plains; anomaly-touched wildlife evolving over centuries.
Memory Stone: Obsidian pillars storing ancient voices; pre-displacement echoes.
The Shattered Spire: Archive entrance; single Life symbol (not twelve); star charts from origin universe.
Chamber 1 - The Displacement: Theia's violent dimensional transition; two moons to one; paradise lost; Esper manipulation.
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