The sky above Edson was no longer blue. It was a pall of drifting gray, a lifeless shroud that dimmed the light of Aethera into a muted glow. What had once been forests of crystal-barked trees and fields of iron-hued grass were now blackened plains stretching to the horizon. Where rivers had carved valleys, there was only ash and silence.
Through his visor, Vear perceived the emptiness. Sight had long been denied to him, but the green crystal embedded in the visor carried the world into his mind: ridges of stone collapsed into dust, winds threading through barren canyons, the hollow absence where once there had been life. Even the crystal found little to reveal. Edson was empty—no heartbeats, no breath, no future.
He knelt and closed his hand around a fistful of ash. The powder sifted between his fingers and drifted away on the wind. For him, twenty years had passed in the Ancient Era. For this age, only six. And in those six, the world had died.
Above, the stars cut through the haze in pale sharpness. Among them glimmered Nyros, no more than a bright red ember, far from the fullness of its Ascension. Distant. Diminished. Watching.
The visor pulsed faintly, and with it came the voice of Aethra, the Aetherion’s AI, carried across the link between them. Calm. Inescapable.
“You think this was your doing.”
“I fought to save them,” Vear said, his jaw tight. “And I returned to nothing. If I had chosen differently—”
“If you had chosen differently, you would not be here at all.”
Her voice fell across his thoughts like steel.
“The Rule of Intent is unbreakable. If a traveler alters the event that sent him on his journey, the new path erases the cause. The future unravels, and the traveler is lost in paradox. You cannot save what birthed your exile.”
The crystal flared briefly, a muted green glow across the smooth surface of the visor, as if answering her defiance with his own.
“I will find a way,” Vear said, low and rough. “If time itself bars me, I’ll break its gates.”
“Every traveler who thought the same has perished in silence,” Aethra replied. “But you… you will not listen.”
The ash stirred around him in gray veils. He rose and turned toward the hidden vessel. The Aetherion unshrouded itself at his approach, its reflective cloak dissolving into the air.
Inside, the ship stirred to life. Systems awakened. Consoles cast pale light that caught the edge of his visor and burned in the crystal like a waiting flame.
“Orbital scans show traces of evacuation traffic in the first days of the Cataclysm,” Aethra said. “Projected arcs intersect the Nyros corridor. Survivors may have sought refuge on Nyra.”
The visor flared, overlaying her words in threads of green light across his mind. Far in the void, Nyros gleamed faintly, an ember against the night.
“Nyra,” Vear murmured.
“Tidally locked,” Aethra confirmed. “Nightside frozen, dayside scorched. Only the twilight band is habitable. No Authority presence in recent cycles.”
“Then that’s where they’ll be,” he said.
“Vear.” Her tone softened, almost human. “The Rule of Intent still binds you. Even if you find them, you cannot unmake what has been.”
The crystal in his visor pulsed steadily, defiant.
“I’m not here to unmake,” he said. “I’m here to find who remains.”
The Aetherion rose from the ruined earth. Edson shrank behind him—gray, broken, and silent. Ahead, Nyros gleamed faint in the night, and along its narrow twilight ring, possibility still waited.
Toward Nyra. Toward what remained. Toward what still might be saved.