BETWEEN TWO REALITIES
Dawn crept slowly over the village. Mist enveloped the huts, drenching them in a gray glow, as if the sun were reluctant to reveal its face. The air smelled of damp wood and the smoke from half-extinguished fires, an aroma that seemed to envelop every corner with a sense of weariness. The birds barely dared to sing, their trills mingling with the rustling of branches from the trees that surrounded this secluded place.
In the center of the plaza, beneath a makeshift shelter of tattered cloth and tree trunks, Zyrion lay on a bed of hay and rough blankets. His eyes remained half-closed, as if the simple act of breathing were a battle. The white aura emanating from his body flickered with an unsettling irregularity, at times intense like a tiny sun, at times faint as if it were fading away.
Around him, everyone was gathered. Caelithra held his hand tightly, though her face betrayed her uncertainty as to whether the hand she was squeezing belonged to the real Zyrion or a reflection. Kyrahna remained on the other side of his bed, her gaze fixed on him, a mixture of defiance and fear, as if she wanted to dare him to rise while simultaneously pleading with him not to leave her alone. Taliena stood with her arms crossed, concealing her anxiety behind a resolute expression. Karion paced in circles, muttering words no one could understand, while Velkran and Quindarion argued in hushed tones, their ideas clashing like invisible swords.
The newcomers—Cilera, Valric, Ryvak, Maerisse, Ysmera, Nivhira, and Tzarelle—formed a more distant semicircle, observing with respect and unsure whether to intervene. They all shared the same thought: what was happening with Zyrion defied any common explanation.
Zyrion barely opened his eyes. Miranth and Psyrion stood before him, but only he could see them. Miranth's expression was serene; his hands wove unreal flashes in the air, like threads of light twisting and changing shape. Psyrion, on the other hand, held his palms against Zyrion's temples, projecting a calm that attempted to stifle the inner chaos tearing at his mind.
"Your mind is splitting in two, Zyrion," Psyrion said, his voice coming in like a clear thought. "One part of you struggles to hold onto the illusion of this world, and the other seeks to shatter it, even if doing so means facing pain that could destroy you."
Zyrion breathed heavily, clenching his teeth.
"I no longer know what is real... I no longer know if the faces I love still exist, or if they are shadows drawn to mock me."
Miranth bowed, his cloak fluttering as if the wind obeyed his words.
"That's what illusion does, Zyrion. It gives you what you crave, but it delivers it like a knife. There is no triumph without sacrifice on this path."
Caelithra stared at him, unsure who he was speaking to. Her fingers trembled as she held him.
"Zyrion... look at me, it's me. Don't let go of me. I'm here."
But the young man looked at her, tears welling in his eyes, without answering. Kyrahna frowned and leaned toward him, demanding:
"What are you looking at? Who are you talking to? Tell me, don't hide what's happening to you."
Zyrion closed his eyes for a moment, as if each word weighed too heavily.
"If I tell you... you might disappear."
Those present looked at each other in confusion, and Velkran took a step forward.
"He's delirious. We need to find a way to bring him out of this trance before his mind breaks."
Quindarion raised his hand, firmly denying it.
"No, Velkran. He is seeing what none of us can. If we interrupt him, we will lose him. This is no ordinary trance… it is a fight only he can win, even though he is not alone."
At that moment, Psyrion intensified his power, and Zyrion felt a wave of thoughts wash over him: memories of his mother, of past battles, of the tears he never shed, and of the man in the white mask who had wounded him almost to the point of breaking. Everything swirled together in a tempest.
"Listen, Zyrion," Psyrion whispered in a deep voice. "We cannot decide for you. We can only bear the burden while you choose. You must ask yourself: what hurts more, accepting what is lost or giving up what you can still protect?"
Miranth added, her eyes gleaming with flashes of illusions that instantly vanished:
"If you choose to stay in this reality, you will lack nothing... but you also will not have the power to change what is to come. If you choose to leave... you will face a pain that almost no one can endure, and you may not even survive."
The silence became unbearable. Everyone around him in the village leaned over him, not listening to Miranth or Psyrion's words, but sensing that something sacred and unseen was at stake. The bonfires crackled violently, as if the fire itself feared going out.
Finally, Zyrion spoke, his voice breaking, though he did not allow a tear to fall.
"I've always been told to resist... to fight... not to fall. But no one knows what it means to carry this burden. No one knows how much it hurts..."
Caelithra squeezed his hand tighter, her eyes shining.
"Then tell me, Zyrion. Tell me, even if you don't believe I'm real. Tell me, and I'll carry that pain with you."
Kyrahna's voice intertwined, deep, almost a whisper.
"You don't have to keep everything to yourself, even if you think crying is a weakness. Because if you fall... we'll fall with you."
Their words echoed within him. Zyrion swallowed, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. The white aura surrounding him expanded, trembling, as if responding to this invisible struggle.
Miranth and Psyrion exchanged a silent glance. They knew the decision was near, but they also knew that the pain to come would be the beginning of an even darker path.
Day was beginning to break over the village, though the sun seemed reluctant to unleash its full light. The air was still heavy with humidity, and the wind carried leaves that swirled as if caught in a slow dance. Around Zyrion, the silence had become a wall that everyone feared to break. His breathing was ragged, and each time the white aura trembled, it seemed as if the very ground shook beneath them.
Quindarion was the first to break the stillness. He had carefully observed the invisible interaction between Zyrion, Miranth, and Psyrion. He raised his voice, without taking his eyes off the young man:
"You two... answer me. I brought you here because I trusted you could bear it, because neither of us understands what goes on inside. Tell me, how much can it withstand before it breaks?"
Miranth narrowed his eyes, his faint silhouette projecting flashes like mirages.
"It's not about how much he can endure, but how much he's willing to sacrifice. What Zyrion faces is not an ordinary wound, it's an abyss. If he leaps in, he might find a power none of you know exists, but if he refuses... he'll be trapped in a prison you can't break."
Psyrion nodded gravely, his voice sounding as if it were passing through several layers of thought.
"We're keeping him between two realities, but we can't keep him like this much longer. If we continue, we'll be the ones who fall with him."
Kyrahna, who had been kneeling beside Zyrion, stood up abruptly. Her dark eyes were filled with fury and despair.
"Then don't abandon him! Don't you dare speak as if he were a burden! If you let him down, I swear I will pursue you even to hell itself."
Caelithra firmly took Kyrahna's hand, trying to calm her, even though her own voice was trembling.
"What Kyrahna means is that we can't lose him. No matter the cost, no matter what we have to do. If he dies, we don't just lose him... we lose ourselves."
The wind blew fiercely at that moment, as if the words had invoked an unspoken oath. Miranth lowered his gaze, and for the first time in a long time, his hopes flickered faintly, as if doubt had crept in.
Quindarion, serious, took a step towards the two bearers.
"If you think you can't sustain it, then find me a solution. If your fragments aren't enough, then find someone who can join forces with you. I won't accept anything less."
Miranth and Psyrion exchanged a silent glance, a tacit agreement. Psyrion placed a hand on Miranth's shoulder.
"We must leave. We've done all we can here. There's someone else who needs to hear this... and perhaps they'll be willing to help."
Kyrahna stepped forward, her fury barely contained.
"Another carrier? Who are you talking about? Don't you dare disappear without telling us who you're going to seek help from."
Miranth tilted his head, his voice sounding enigmatic.
"The name you ask for cannot be revealed yet. Just trust that not all the carriers are blind to what is happening. But know this: if we fail to bring him back, the price you will pay will be higher than you can imagine."
Psyrion leaned towards Zyrion, closing his eyes for a moment.
"Hold on. Don't let go of the thread, boy. What's coming won't be kind to you, but it's necessary."
The air suddenly tightened, and in the blink of an eye, they both vanished as if they had never been there. The square grew colder, and the absence of the porters weighed heavily on the atmosphere.
Caelithra let out a trembling sigh, kneeling again beside Zyrion, caressing his face.
"Zyrion... listen to my voice. It doesn't matter if you're lost in another reality, it doesn't matter if your mind is breaking, I won't let go of your hand. Not this time."
Kyrahna crossed her arms, staring in the direction Miranth and Psyrion had disappeared. Her voice was bitter, almost a stifled roar.
"They trust their own secrets too much. If that carrier they're looking for decides it's not worth helping us, then we'll be the ones to bear the entire burden. And I don't know how much more we can endure."
Meanwhile, the others kept busy around, each in their own way. Karion stood, gazing at the horizon as if expecting unseen enemies. Velkran was quietly arguing with Quindarion, trying to guess which wielder might have enough power to intervene. Taliena was organizing Cilera and Valric to reinforce the village's security, while Ryvak and Maerisse were preparing torches and protective runes around the plaza. Ysmera, Nivhira, and Tzarelle were gathering herbs and fresh water to sustain Zyrion's weakened body.
Everything was movement, everything was effort, but deep down in their hearts they all knew that they depended on something beyond their control.
The sky suddenly darkened, though it was not yet night. A distant shadow covered the mountains, and the murmur of the wind changed tone, as if the earth itself had fallen silent.
Kyrahna leaned over Zyrion again, murmuring, barely audible.
"Don't leave me here with this endless wait. Don't force me to follow a path where you're not. I warn you, Zyrion... if you decide to leave, you'll take me with you."
The last word broke in her throat, though her pride wouldn't allow her to cry. Caelithra glanced at her sideways, knowing that at that moment they both felt the same pain, even though they expressed it in different ways.
And when the last fragment awakens, the world will finally understand why Kyrethron had to fall.