Wind ruffled the treetops, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Xion Trinity Pendragon felt every inch of his body ache from tension and exhaustion, but relief still simmered inside him: he and Lillian Weiss had escaped Veluria. Gone were the impossible architecture and devouring illusions—for now.
They trekked along a narrow path that wound through a thick woodland. The canopy filtered sunlight into shifting patches, each swaying in time with the breeze. The bristling hush of Veluria had given way to more natural sounds: squirrels darting across branches, birds chirping in half-melodic calls. Even so, Xion couldn't shake an unease that prickled beneath his skin, as if the city's oppressive watch still lingered at the edges of his thoughts.
He and Lillian had parted ways with Balthas and a few other survivors who ventured into a different section of the forest, seeking safer roads to known towns. Xion felt a twinge of guilt at splitting up, but they had different goals: the survivors yearned for normalcy, while Xion was fixated on the truth behind Epitaphs, the Hall of Glass, and the cosmic rewriting that might determine his fate. Lillian, unwavering, stuck by him.
They walked in companionable silence for an hour, passing slender birch trees that gave way to taller pines. The ground beneath them gradually rose, forming a gentle incline. Here and there, half-rotted logs provided seats for brief rests. Twice, Xion paused to consult the small notebook he used to counter Veluria's memory-thieving aura. Though they had left the city, he still worried illusions might follow. The notes remained: references to Chrona, the cryptic mention of a "final rewriting," and the notion that Xion might harbor a paradoxical power akin to an Epitaph. He exhaled, pressing forward.
Eventually, they came across a shallow brook trickling over mossy rocks. The water was clear enough to see fish darting beneath the ripples. Lillian knelt, refilling a waterskin, while Xion surveyed the surroundings. He inhaled the earthy scent of the forest. A normal place—how long had it been since he felt safe?
"We should keep going," Lillian suggested softly, pushing her silver hair behind an ear. The parted black portion swayed, revealing the subdued worry in her eyes. "There might be a settlement or outpost nearby. If we can find a local map or a library, we'll have a shot at learning more about Epitaph detection."
Xion nodded. "I'm with you. I've had enough of illusions for a lifetime." He thought back to Chrona in the sunken cathedral, demanding proof of his contradictory existence. The memory of conjuring that ephemeral glow around his sword still sent a quiver through him. He had touched something beyond normal magic. Or normal reality.
They pressed on until the brook curved away eastward, leaving them on a faint trail that twisted through dense undergrowth. An hour later, the forest thinned, revealing a ragged slope of grayish rock. The path forked: one route ascended a craggy hill, the other vanished into a shallow ravine thick with ferns.
Lillian halted, frowning. "Which way?"
Xion studied the terrain. The hill overlooked the ravine, and from the vantage, they might spy signs of civilization. The ravine, on the other hand, promised water, shade, and perhaps a hidden route. He looked to Lillian for an opinion, but her expression was equally uncertain.
"If there's a settlement," he reasoned, "it might be higher ground for defense. Let's check the hill."
She agreed. So they climbed. The slope was steeper than it first appeared, littered with loose stones and stubborn shrubs. Each step forced them to brace, dust crumbling around their boots. At times, they relied on gnarled roots for handholds. At least the canopy parted, letting them glimpse the sky.
By midday, they reached a small plateau near the summit, breath ragged. The forest stretched below in all directions, a sea of undulating green. Over the horizon, Xion could make out distant mountains, their peaks hazy with clouds. No obvious sign of roads or villages. He grimaced, scanning carefully.
Then Lillian let out a soft gasp, pointing westward. "Look there... smoke."
A faint wisp of gray rose from somewhere among the trees. It was too steady to be a random forest fire; it looked more like the controlled smoke of a hearth or campfire. Xion's pulse quickened. "Could be travelers. Or an outpost."
"It's worth investigating," Lillian replied, eyes narrowing. "But we can't assume they're friendly. Not all survivors or exiles are benevolent."
Xion shrugged, brushing dust off his tunic. "We'll be cautious. But I need more than caution if I'm ever going to unravel this Epitaph mystery."
So they descended the western side of the hill, carefully navigating half-crumbled rocks that formed a kind of natural staircase. The forest welcomed them again with shade and the quiet hush of midday. Here, the trees grew taller, their trunks clad in thick moss. The undergrowth was sparser, letting them move faster.
Every so often, Xion glimpsed the thin column of smoke to the southwest. They marched for another hour, guided by that faint signal. With each step, he felt tension coil: Would these people know about Epitaphs, or at least have resources to point them toward new leads? Or were they bandits, or worse?
At length, they spotted a worn signpost standing askew under a large oak, the paint flaked off beyond recognition. The path near it showed signs of use—flattened vegetation, faint footprints. Lillian crouched to inspect them, running her fingers across the impressions in the soil. "Multiple sets of boots. Some large, some small. Not too old."
"Then we're close to someone," Xion whispered, resolve building.
---
The path emerged onto a narrow clearing. The smell of burning wood reached them, stronger now. Beyond a bend, they heard rushing water. Soon, the forest parted around a broad river, its current swift and glimmering in the sunlight. A stone bridge spanned the river—ancient, with cracked arches and a mossy parapet. On the far side, a small clearing displayed a cluster of tents around a central fire pit. The smoke rose from that pit, a gentle column swirling into the sky.
Xion halted behind a thick tree, peering at the camp. Five or six figures moved about, tending to chores, adjusting tents, or hovering near the fire. None wore the distinct attire of the Divine Concord. They seemed more like travelers—or possibly mercenaries. Some kept weapons close at hand. A cart loaded with supplies stood at the edge, its horse grazing lazily.
Lillian crept beside him. "Shall we announce ourselves?" she murmured.
He weighed the idea. On one hand, forging alliances might yield shelter or information. On the other, any group armed and living out here could be wary—especially of strangers with cryptic backgrounds. But hiding forever wasn't an option.
"We approach openly," Xion decided. "We can't appear sneaky."
She nodded. They stepped into view, crossing the bridge at a measured pace. The gentle roar of the river masked their footsteps until they were halfway across. Then one of the campers looked up, shouted something, and the rest turned. A large man in a leather jerkin stepped forward, hand on the hilt of a curved blade. Two others gripped shortbows, though they didn't draw arrows. Tension crackled in the air.
Xion raised his free hand in a nonthreatening gesture. "Greetings," he called. "We're travelers, seeking safe passage. We saw your fire. We mean no harm."
The big man—apparently the group's leader—eyed them warily. "Hardly any safe passage in these parts. You new around here?"
"Yes," Lillian replied gently, stepping up. "We escaped a... complicated place. We only want to find rest and resources. We can pay or trade for them."
A middle-aged woman emerged from the tents, sporting braided hair and a crossbow slung across her back. She glanced at the man, exchanging a look. Eventually, the big man shrugged. "Well, if you were bandits, I'd guess you'd have come with less talk. We're a camp of freelance guards and peddlers. No official name. But you can call me Ramos**."
He gestured for them to step forward. The bows remained half-lowered, a sign of cautious acceptance. Xion and Lillian approached, halting a few paces from the camp's perimeter. Up close, they saw a mixture of travelers: two men, three women, and a lanky youth. They had the look of people who lived on the road—dusty cloaks, makeshift gear, and an alertness that suggested they'd faced threats.
Ramos sized up Xion's sword and Lillian's staff. "You two look like you've come from a rough journey. You lost? Or is that city behind you?"
"We were in Veluria," Xion admitted, noticing the flicker of alarm that passed through the group. "We got out."
A middle-aged woman with braided hair—apparently Ramos's partner—let out a sharp whistle. "Veluria? People vanish there, or come out half-mad. You don't look half-mad, so that's something." She eyed them suspiciously. "Are you sure you're real?"
Xion offered a weary chuckle. "We've been asking ourselves that, too."
The group parted enough to let Xion and Lillian approach the central fire pit. A battered iron pot hung over the flames, stew bubbling. The smell of onions and herbs teased Xion's stomach, reminding him he had barely eaten in the last day. Lillian too seemed drawn to the aroma but remained composed.
"We don't want to trouble you," she said. "But if you'll let us rest here a bit, maybe share news of the roads ahead, we can trade coin or do labor in return."
Ramos and his partner exchanged a glance. The others looked on, some curious, some guarded. "We're not charity," Ramos eventually said. "But we don't turn away travelers with coin or skill. If you're decent folks, you can stay for a short time. We might have some gear to sell, though we're not a formal market."
Relief flickered through Xion. "Thank you," he said, fishing out a couple of battered coins from his pouch. They weren't minted by the Divine Concord, but a smaller kingdom's currency—still accepted by most merchants with a flexible attitude.
The braided woman introduced herself as Mira. She tested the coins in her palm, nodded, and pocketed them. "Fine. Grab a seat near the fire if you like. But no funny business." She gestured to a log bench. The group eased the tension, returning to their tasks, though the watchful glances didn't fade entirely.
Xion and Lillian settled on the log, warming their hands by the fire. The stew in the pot smelled better by the second. They exchanged grateful smiles. Soon, Mira ladled some into a tin bowl, handing it over. "Eat. But mind your manners."
They thanked her, savoring the warm, if slightly bland, meal. Compared to the terror of Veluria, the moment felt almost tranquil. Still, Xion's mind churned with the unending question: Could these travelers hold knowledge about Epitaphs or local sages?
He decided to pry gently. "We appreciate the hospitality. We heard rumors of an outpost or settlement not far from here. We're searching for specialists in... unusual matters. Arcane knowledge, relics, that sort of thing."
One of the younger guards raised an eyebrow. "Arcane knowledge? You'd do better in one of the big cities, if you can stand their inquisitions. Or the Sealed Academies—though they take a chunk of your soul for any secret they share. The youth shrugged. "No real official outpost around these parts, just scattered camps and small hamlets. Unless you head east to Grenspar—a lumber town, half a day's ride."*
Ramos nodded, stirring the stew. "Aye, Grenspar. Not exactly a library of the arcane, but you might find a wandering scholar or two. The roads are tough, though. Bandits, beasts, occasional nightmares from old wars."
"Grenspar." Lillian tested the name. "Sounds like our next destination."
Xion exchanged a look with her. They had only just escaped one labyrinth, but a lumber town might at least offer them a place to gather supplies and possibly glean leads. If Epitaph lore was scarce, maybe they could find hints about traveling scholars or relic-hunters. One lead might chain to another. That was how the road of secrets often worked.
He decided to push a bit further. "One more question—have any of you heard the term 'Epitaph' used in a magical sense?" He tried to sound casual, though his heartbeat spiked. "We came across references to it while traveling."
The campsite quieted. Mira and Ramos shared a concerned glance; the younger guards looked puzzled. One older man at the periphery of the group stiffened, eyes darting away.
Ramos cleared his throat. "Epitaphs, you say? That's a word I've heard in old stories—like unstoppable curses, or powers that break the laws of nature. Might be nonsense, might be real. Folk say Epitaph bearers can snap their fingers and unravel kingdoms. Others say they're illusions spun by cults to scare kids."
Xion forced a calm nod. "We're trying to figure out the truth. If you know anyone who's studied them—scholars, bards, witches—any direction helps."
A tense murmur passed through the group. The older man who had stiffened earlier cleared his throat, stepping forward. He was tall, with a gaunt face and sunken cheeks. His voice emerged low, rasping with caution. "Heard a tale once, from a wandering minstrel. Claimed a certain Epitaph broke an entire battlefield centuries ago. Turned men to ash in a single breath." He paused, scanning Xion's expression. "But the minstrel said it was all rumor, carried down by superstitious soldiers. Hard to separate fear from fact."
Xion tried not to show disappointment. "Any clue where the minstrel was headed?"
The older man shook his head. "He traveled from settlement to settlement, chasing coin. That was over a year ago. Could be dead, or moved on to the capital. Sorry."
Still, it was something. The group's reaction made it clear that Epitaph talk was either taboo or considered extremely dangerous. Xion decided not to push further. He sensed they had gleaned all they would from these travelers right now.
They finished their meal in awkward silence. Mira eventually offered them a small corner by the tents to set up if they wanted rest, for an additional coin or two. Xion paid without complaint. Lillian rummaged through the group's meager wares, purchasing a sealed waterskin and some dried fruit. Meanwhile, Xion rechecked the forest, ensuring no illusions lurked.
Soon, the sun hung low, turning the sky amber. The travelers coaxed the fire to a steady blaze, joking about simpler topics—bandits on the roads, gossip of smaller kingdoms ignoring Concord edicts, etc. Xion and Lillian contributed few words, content to observe. Tension about Epitaphs lingered in the air.
---
As dusk approached, a final straggler emerged from the woods carrying a bow, a quiver, and a brace of rabbits slung over his shoulder. He was a lean man with dark, curly hair, perhaps in his late twenties. The group greeted him as Aren, the camp's resident scout and occasional hunter. He eyed Xion and Lillian with polite curiosity.
"New faces, I see," Aren said, dropping the rabbits on a makeshift table for Mira to clean. "Good timing. I'm starving."
Ramos introduced Xion and Lillian as temporary guests. Aren shrugged, neither welcoming nor hostile, then proceeded to help Mira skin the rabbits. The camp bustled with preparations for the evening meal.
Xion and Lillian settled by their small corner near a cluster of rocks. She unwrapped the dried fruit, offering him a piece. He accepted it with a quiet nod. The tension he felt earlier had eased somewhat. The group might be wary of them, but at least they were not turning them away or calling the Divine Concord. A small blessing.
As the last rays of daylight vanished, Ramos lit a few torches around the perimeter. The flickering glow danced across the stone bridge and the rushing river. An undercurrent of nerves vibrated among the travelers, likely from living in constant vigilance. Xion understood—Veluria or not, the roads were fraught with hidden threats.
He mulled whether to approach Aren, the scout, for more detailed local knowledge. The man's arrival from the woods suggested a strong familiarity with the region. Xion quietly excused himself from Lillian and approached the scout, who lounged near the central fire cleaning his bow.
Aren looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Need something?"
"If you don't mind," Xion said politely, "I'd like to know more about Grenspar. The group here mentioned it might be half a day's ride. Is it a large place? Are travelers with specialized knowledge likely to be found there?"
Aren shrugged, continuing to wipe the bow's curved limbs. "Depends on your definition of large. Grenspar's a lumber town—rough, overshadowed by pines, dealing in tar and wood shipments. The roads are decent, but I hear they've had trouble with bandits. As for specialized knowledge..." He paused, eyes narrowing. "You mean arcane or forbidden stuff?"
Xion kept his expression neutral. "Potentially. My friend and I have reasons to seek out unusual lore. He offered a half-smile. "Nothing shady, if that's what you're wondering. But the world is wide, and standard libraries won't cut it."
Aren set his bow aside, ruffling his hair. "Well, Grenspar's not exactly known for arcane pursuits. But you might find traveling scholars or bards passing through. Some old men in the lumber guild claim to have odd relics. People spin tall tales. Hard to say what's real."
"Better than nothing," Xion said. "Any advice for the road there?"
The scout smirked. "Stay armed. The forest corridor to Grenspar is rumored to have 'haunted glades.' Some travelers vanish without a trace. More mundane threats, too—wolves, robbers. But if you stick to the main route, you'll likely be fine."
Xion thanked him, stepping back with new resolve. Grenspar might be modest, but it was a lead—a first real settlement outside Veluria. Perhaps from there, they could track rumors of Epitaph lore or find an eccentric scholar who collected forbidden texts.
He regrouped with Lillian, recounting the brief conversation. She nodded, sipping water from her new waterskin. "One more step forward," she murmured, stifling a yawn. "We'll head out at dawn?"
"Yes," Xion confirmed, glancing around. The sky overhead was now a deep indigo, stars flickering to life. The campsite's torches provided pools of light amid the encroaching darkness. Tiredness weighed on him—both from the physical trek and the mental strain of the last days.
They settled near their small patch of ground, packing a bit of straw under a blanket as bedding. A few travelers cast glances their way, but no one approached. The hush of evening set in, punctuated by the hum of the river and the occasional crackle of the fire.
---
Sometime after midnight, Xion's eyes snapped open. A subtle vibration rippled through the air, as if the forest itself inhaled sharply. He propped himself up on one elbow, scanning the camp. The torches still glowed, though some had burned low. The travelers were slumbering in scattered bedrolls near the embers of the campfire.
A faint chill prickled across his arms. He thought he heard a whisper—not from the camp, but from beyond. Carefully, he stood, hand drifting to his sword. Lillian, lying near him, stirred and blinked awake.
"Something wrong?" she asked, voice hushed.
He pressed a finger to his lips and nodded toward the darkness outside the torchlight. "I heard something. Might be nothing."
They crept to the perimeter, the stone bridge looming behind them. The forest on the far side rustled lightly in the night breeze. The stars overhead were numerous, a band of shimmering light crossing the sky. For a moment, Xion considered the possibility that he'd dreamed it—his nerves still raw from illusions.
Then he saw it: a flicker of movement among the trees, faintly outlined by starlight. A shape, tall and slender, sliding between trunks with unsettling grace. Lillian inhaled sharply, staff at the ready.
Xion's heart hammered. Could it be watchers? Memory leeches? Some new horror from beyond Veluria? He felt an urge to rouse the camp, but that might cause panic. Instead, he and Lillian edged closer, using the natural gloom as cover.
The figure stopped near a wide oak, a silhouette clearly humanoid. It had elongated limbs, an odd tilt to its posture. Slowly, it turned its head in Xion's direction, though from this distance, its features remained obscured.
In a flash, it sprang backward, vanishing deeper into the forest. Xion cursed softly. Lillian whispered, "We can't chase blindly. We might run into a trap."
"Agreed." He exhaled, tension coiling. "But let's warn the camp. That was no ordinary traveler."
They retreated to the center of the camp, where Ramos and Mira dozed near the dying fire. Xion gently shook Ramos awake, explaining what they saw. The man cursed, rousing two guards. They agreed to keep watch in shifts until dawn, wary of potential attacks.
No further incidents disturbed the night, though Xion found it impossible to fully relax. The silhouette haunted his mind. Could it be a residue of Veluria's illusions, an echo that escaped the city as they did? Or was it a mere forest spirit, natural to these lands? Either way, he was reminded that danger lurked everywhere.
Eventually he drifted back to fitful sleep, the sound of the rushing river filling his ears. By morning, the memory of that lurking figure gnawed at him like a half-remembered nightmare.
---
The sun rose, a golden haze spreading across the forest clearing. The camp stirred awake with subdued chatter. Ramos and the others prepared a sparse breakfast—hard bread, dried meat, hot tea brewed over the rekindled fire. Xion and Lillian partook, thanking them. The discussion turned to the night's disturbance.
"We didn't see anything after you warned us," Mira said, yawning, "but we heard faint steps once or twice. Could have been an animal. Could have been something else."
Ramos shrugged. "Thanks for the heads-up, either way. I guess you'll be moving on?"
"Yes," Xion confirmed, glancing at Lillian, who nodded. "We need to reach Grenspar."
A small wave of relief passed among the travelers, who, though mostly kind, remained uneasy about the pair's talk of Epitaphs and arcane matters. With a final exchange of supplies—Xion traded a few more coins for a small bundle of dried herbs and a ragged map—he and Lillian prepared to depart.
The map, courtesy of Aren, was crudely drawn but marked a route to Grenspar: a winding path that veered around the forest's deeper ravines, crossing a single wooden bridge near an old watchtower ruin. The entire journey was labeled in half-day increments, with "Caution" scrawled near certain spots.
"Stay safe," Ramos said, offering a curt nod. The other travelers gave polite but distant farewells, returning to their routines. The sense of an uncertain camaraderie lingered, but neither side pressed for more.
Xion and Lillian crossed the stone bridge heading west, following the newly acquired map's route. The morning air felt crisp, scented with dew and pine. Every step away from Veluria steadied Xion's nerves, though he remained vigilant for illusions or watchers. Lillian's staff tapped softly on the ground, a reassuring metronome.
"So," she began, "Grenspar. We find a traveler or scholar who might know about Epitaph detection? Or an instrument that can test if you carry a dormant Epitaph?"
Xion nodded. "Yes. If that fails, we move on, searching for bigger leads. The Sealed Academies... or the far-off capitals, though I'd prefer not to cross the Divine Concord if we can help it." He grimaced at the memory of inquisitors labeling him a heresy. If they discovered his potential link to a paradox or Epitaph, they would stop at nothing to eradicate him.
Lillian's gaze clouded. "I'm worried about Chrona. She claimed to 'stand above illusions.' If she's truly tracking anomalies, we might see her again. She might not always be so accommodating."
Xion agreed. The mysterious figure with her chain and gear-laden attire had hinted at a bigger cosmic game. If Chrona was an agent of fate or an independent enforcer of cosmic laws, she could complicate things. But that confrontation was a future worry. Right now, he needed resources, knowledge, and time.
The forest path meandered through sunlit glades, dotted with wildflowers. Birds chirped overhead, adding a veneer of peace. Occasionally, Xion's muscles tensed at stray shadows, but no further shapes lurked among the trees. Each mile put more distance between them and Veluria's gloom.
After an hour, the path dipped into a shallow valley. The map indicated a stream crossing ahead. Sure enough, they heard rushing water soon, spotting a modest wooden footbridge. The structure looked rickety, but functional. On the other side, a signpost read: GRSPAR 8 ML. The letters half-faded.
"We're making progress," Lillian noted, scanning the area for threats. "If we keep this pace, we might reach the town before nightfall."
Xion exhaled in relief. The chance to see real streets, an inn with stable walls, possibly a local official or a traveling mystic—it felt like stepping back into a semblance of normal life. Then again, normal life might be a fleeting concept for him now.
As they crossed the footbridge, an odd hush descended, reminiscent of Veluria's hush but weaker. Goosebumps prickled along Xion's arms. Lillian paused, brow furrowing.
"Do you feel that?" she whispered.
He nodded, gripping his sword's hilt. "It's like a shift in the air."
They advanced carefully, scanning the underbrush. Beyond the bridge, the path curved uphill. A tangle of shrubs obscured the view. As they rounded the bend, the hush lifted, replaced by a startled gasp: A slender figure with pointed ears stood there, rummaging through a worn satchel. She froze upon seeing them, eyes wide with alarm. She wore traveling leathers, a quiver of arrows on her back, and a shortbow leaning against a rock.
An elf? Xion blinked. Elves weren't unheard of, but they were rarer in these regions. She looked equally surprised.
"I—" she began, hand drifting toward her bow.
"We mean no harm," Lillian said quickly, staff lowered. "Just passing through."
The elf studied them, tension visible in her posture. After a moment, she relaxed fractionally, glancing at the path behind them. "Are you from the camp by the river? I was going that way to trade, but I saw figures crossing the bridge and decided to wait."
"We were guests there," Xion replied carefully. "They're cautious. Who are you?"
She hesitated before answering, as though measuring their intentions. "Name's Faewen. I roam these woods, trade small goods, hunt. Occasionally guide folks. She eyed Lillian's staff. "You two look like you've seen trouble."
A wry laugh escaped Xion. "More than we'd like to admit."
Faewen tilted her head, curiosity flickering. "Well, if you're heading to Grenspar, I can point out pitfalls or safer forks in the path. For a small fee, of course."
Lillian and Xion exchanged a glance. A local guide could be invaluable. But their coin was dwindling. Still, saving time or avoiding dangers might be worth it.
"We can pay some," Lillian offered. "If you have direct knowledge of the route—and perhaps information about local scholars or relic hunters."
Faewen's brow rose. "Relic hunters? That's interesting. You're not Concord inquisitors, are you?"
Xion bristled. "No." Then, in a calmer tone, "We just... need unusual knowledge."
Faewen studied them, concluding something unspoken. She gave a small shrug. "Fine. I'll guide you. Payment we can sort out along the way. Let's move—bandits sometimes roam this path."
---
With that, Faewen fell in alongside them. She was clearly experienced, weaving through the forest with practiced steps. Her pointed ears twitched slightly at distant sounds—a bird's cry, a rustle of leaves. She led them at a steady pace, pausing occasionally to point out hidden pitfalls or narrow animal trails that bypassed muddy stretches.
Conversation flowed in fits and starts as they walked. Xion probed gently about arcane matters, but Faewen maintained a guarded stance. At one point, Lillian asked about Epitaph lore in these lands. The elf frowned.
"Epitaph? I've heard the term from passing scholars, mostly warnings. Some rumored a fragment of an Epitaph once rested in these woods, causing illusions. She shrugged. "But that might just be explaining away normal forest hazards."
"We've encountered illusions more potent than normal hazards," Xion said softly.
Faewen gave him a sidelong look, as though reconsidering them. "If that's so, you're braver than most. I just pray you're not chasing legends that'll get you killed."
They pressed on, the path cresting a small ridge. From there, they glimpsed rolling hills in the distance, dotted with sparse farmland. Smoke from occasional homesteads rose in thin columns. The presence of actual farmland brought an odd comfort: it implied people living normal lives, far from cursed cities or cosmic anomalies.
Faewen pointed to a valley overshadowed by tall pines. "We'll cut through there. It's a shorter route than the official road, but keep your wits about you. I've had run-ins with opportunistic bandits in that valley."
"Bandits we can handle," Xion said, though he recalled the memory leech and watchers with a shudder. Earthly threats almost felt easier to confront.
They descended the slope, stepping into the pine-shrouded valley. Shadows elongated as afternoon waned. A hush fell, broken only by the crunch of pine needles underfoot. Faewen seemed confident, picking her route carefully.
"We'll likely make Grenspar by nightfall, if nothing goes wrong," she remarked.
Xion tried to quell the flicker of dread that accompanied the words "if nothing goes wrong." Every time someone uttered such a phrase, something typically went wrong. But maybe, for once, the universe would grant them an uneventful day.
---
They traversed the valley floor in relative calm for a half-hour. The pines blocked most of the sunlight, creating a perpetual twilight beneath their dense branches. Faewen indicated a small creek that snaked along the valley, a potential water source if they needed it. Just as they approached a bend in that creek, however, Xion saw movement among the trees—not illusions this time, but the crude glint of metal.
"Down!" he hissed.
They ducked behind a fallen log. Lillian crouched next to him, staff at the ready. Faewen eased an arrow from her quiver with practiced calm, nocking it silently. Through the foliage, Xion spotted three men wearing mismatched leather armor, hunched behind a cluster of boulders. One had a crossbow, the others brandished swords. Their posture suggested they were lying in wait.
Bandits.
Faewen mouthed the word, confirming Xion's suspicion. He grimaced, recalling that even mundane threats could be lethal. Lillian steadied her breathing.
The bandits were muttering to each other, though the words weren't clear. Possibly waiting for travelers on the faint trail. Xion exchanged a look with Lillian and Faewen—fight or circumvent? If they tried to sneak around, the bandits might still spot them. The three looked alert enough.
Faewen signaled that they might catch the bandits by surprise. Lillian nodded, reluctant but resolved. Xion inhaled, recalling his vow: Mortal threats are simpler. He parted from the log, creeping around a flank, hoping for an angle that might let them scare off or subdue the bandits without bloodshed. Yet his heart hammered with old fear. Would he have to kill them?
Crouched behind a bush, Xion inched closer. The crossbow-wielder turned slightly, scanning the area, forcing Xion to freeze. Lillian moved in parallel, staff held low. Faewen circled wide, arrow at the ready. They had them in a half-encirclement.
The moment the bandits sensed movement, everything erupted. The crossbowman yelped, "We've got company!" and swiveled, loosing a bolt. It whizzed past Xion's ear, thudding into a tree. One sword-wielder lunged at Lillian with a wild slash, forcing her to backpedal. Faewen sprang from cover, arrow flying—a direct hit to the crossbowman's arm. He shrieked, dropping his weapon. The second sword-wielder spotted Xion and rushed in, steel clashing.
Xion parried with practiced reflexes, but the force of the blow rattled him. He pivoted, forcing the bandit's blade wide, then slammed a foot into the man's knee. The bandit stumbled, cursing. Xion followed with a swift strike that knocked the sword from his hand. Fear flickered in the bandit's eyes, replaced by anger. He scrabbled for a dagger at his belt.
A swirl of staff-wielding erupted near Lillian. She blocked the slashing sword with a crackle of arcane sparks. The bandit spat curses, pressing harder. Lillian winced from the impact, but managed to slip aside, chanting under her breath. A surge of faint green energy coiled around her staff, and she thrust it forward. The bandit jerked back as if struck by invisible force, collapsing to his knees, gasping.
Meanwhile, Faewen pinned down the crossbowman, arrow ready to fly again if he moved. The man clutched his wounded arm, eyes wide with panic.
Xion's bandit lunged with the dagger, forcing Xion to slash reflexively. The blade cut the man's forearm, drawing blood and a howl. The bandit dropped to his knees, fear overtaking aggression.
"S-stop!" he pleaded, trembling. "We're done. We yield!"
Xion's pulse raced, breath ragged. He held the sword, uncertain if finishing the fight meant finishing a life. Lillian's gaze flicked to him; she, too, had subdued her opponent without lethal force. Faewen advanced, arrow nocked, expression grim.
"Drop all your weapons," Lillian demanded, voice steady. "Move away from them."
The battered men complied, sliding swords and daggers aside. The crossbowman moaned in pain, blood darkening his sleeve from Faewen's arrow. The group swiftly disarmed them, pushing the blades out of reach.
"We have nothing worth stealing," Xion hissed. "Why ambush random travelers?"
The wounded bandit spat, "Desperate times. The roads are empty. He glared at them, then coughed, wincing. "We do what we must to survive."
Xion felt a surge of conflicting sympathy. He remembered the traveling merchant caravans he once saw. The world had grown harsh under the Divine Concord's watch, with smaller kingdoms neglected or taxed to ruin. Some turned to banditry out of desperation.
But that didn't excuse attacking innocents. He pressed the tip of his sword to the ground, kneeling beside the crossbowman to examine the wound. The arrow was lodged in muscle, bleeding but not fatal. He glanced at Faewen, who gave a slight nod. Carefully, Xion applied pressure to slow the bleeding while Faewen eased the arrow out. The man groaned. Lillian rummaged for a cloth to bandage him. The entire scene was surreal—a moment of reluctant compassion for attackers they had just bested.
Once bandaged, the three battered bandits cowered, awaiting judgment. Lillian exhaled. "We won't kill you." She turned to Faewen. "They should be forced to leave these woods or find an honest livelihood. But that's their choice."
Faewen nodded curtly. "We'll let you go with your lives, but if we catch you ambushing travelers again..." She let the threat hang. The bandits didn't protest, fear etched in their expressions.
Xion spoke in a tense voice. "I suggest you limp away from this valley. There's a camp by the river—maybe they'll show mercy if you come unarmed, but I doubt it. Otherwise, find a settlement that needs labor. You got lucky today."
He stepped back, gesturing for them to leave. The bandits cast wary looks at each other, gathered what rags they could without retrieving weapons, and hobbled off westward. A sense of fragile relief washed over the group.
"That was... surprisingly civil," Lillian murmured, re-securing her staff. "They may have attacked others. We could have turned them in somewhere."
Faewen rolled her shoulders. "Justice is scarce outside bigger towns. If they don't learn, they'll meet a worse fate. She turned to Xion. "Well done not finishing them. Some would have done so to send a message."
Xion managed a faint smile, though guilt churned inside him. He had wounded a man—necessary, but still unsettling. The memory of killing in self-defense weighed heavily, even if the victim deserved it. He forced himself to focus on the road ahead. They had survived, and no illusions or watchers had appeared. One step at a time.
---
The scuffle with the bandits cost them an hour or two, and cleaning up the wounds left the group weary. The sun had climbed higher, nearing its zenith. Faewen led them onward, venturing through the final stretch of pine-laden valley. The tension from the battle ebbed, replaced by a quiet sense of accomplishment—they had proven capable of handling real-world threats without resorting to tragedy.
By midafternoon, the trees thinned. A beaten road emerged, packed dirt showing wheel ruts from carts. The scattered stumps indicated ongoing logging. They were nearing Grenspar's domain. A sign at a fork read: GRENSPAR - 2 MILES.
Relief washed over Xion. He turned to Faewen. "Thank you for guiding us. We'll pay whatever we can."
She shrugged modestly. "Your help dealing with those bandits is enough. I might continue to Grenspar as well. See if I can trade furs."
So the three walked the final mile together, conversation lightening. Faewen shared small tales about local hunts, including rumored sightings of a "ghostly stag" that some believed was an omen of an ancient forest spirit. Lillian listened attentively, occasionally noting parallels to illusions they'd seen in Veluria. Xion remained mostly quiet, mind drifting toward Epitaph research. Perhaps in Grenspar, they'd find the next link in the chain.
At last, they crested a slight rise, and Grenspar sprawled below: a modest town hugging a large river bend, where lumber mills dotted the banks. Smoke rose from multiple chimneys, though nowhere near as large as a city's skyline. Wooden palisades surrounded the perimeter, manned by bored-looking guards. The hum of saws drifted faintly on the wind.
"Home sweet... well, not home," Faewen said wryly. "But at least it's civilization."
They descended the slope, approaching the gates. Two guards stepped forward, spears in hand. Their expressions perked at seeing an elf with travelers. One guard, a woman with a harsh scar across her cheek, demanded:
"Names and purpose?"
Faewen answered first, presenting a worn pass that indicated her as a known huntress and occasional trader. The guards nodded, letting her pass.
Xion and Lillian introduced themselves, staying vague about origins: "Seeking refuge and possible work. We have coin." The scarred guard eyed them suspiciously but saw no obvious threat. She gave them a cursory glance, then waved them in, cautioning them to obey local law.
They entered Grenspar, passing through a wooden gatehouse into a bustling main street of muddy ground. Buildings of timber and stone lined the road, some leaning precariously. The smell of sawdust mingled with that of livestock and cooking fires. People bustled about: workers hauling lumber, merchants advertising wares, children darting between stalls.
A wave of normalcy enveloped Xion. After the horrors of Veluria, this was almost jarring. Yet he remained alert, mindful that illusions or watchers could lurk anywhere. They drifted into the thick of commerce, scanning signs: a blacksmith with an anvil emblem, a tavern labeled THE CEDAR'S REST, a modest market selling vegetables. Overhead, the sky remained overcast, giving the town a subdued light.
Faewen parted ways, heading to a small fur trader's stand. She gave them a quick farewell: "If you stay more than a day, we might cross paths again. But watch yourselves—some in Grenspar might not welcome strangers prying into odd topics."
"We'll keep that in mind," Lillian said, offering gratitude. The elf gave a curt nod and melted into the crowd.
Xion inhaled. First step: find lodging. He spotted a sign near the tavern's entrance depicting a bed symbol. Perfect. They wound through throngs of laborers until they reached the tavern, pushing past the wooden door into a dim interior. The smell of ale, stewed meat, and sweat greeted them. A handful of rough-looking patrons nursed drinks at tables.
They approached the bar, manned by a rotund fellow with a genial air. He sized them up, then offered a toothy grin. "Need a room? We got a couple free, if you can pay."
Xion nodded, sliding a few coins on the counter. "We'll take one room with two beds, if that's possible."
The barman scooped up the coins, eyes glinting approval. "Cedar's Rest welcomes you, friends. Name's Tovin. Let me fetch a key." He rummaged under the bar, producing a tarnished brass key. "Down the hall, second door on the right. Clean enough, though we're short on fancy."
"We're short on fancy ourselves," Lillian joked softly, mustering a polite smile.
They made their way to the room. A humble space with two narrow beds, a small window overlooking the muddy street, and a creaky floor. Still leagues better than Veluria's illusions or sleeping on damp ground. Xion let out a long exhale, setting his pack down. Lillian slid onto a bed, posture weary.
"Feels almost too normal," she murmured. "After everything we've endured, it's surreal to be in a place with ordinary folk."
"Let's not jinx it," Xion replied, forcing a half-laugh. He sat on the edge of his own bed, the tension in his muscles relaxing a fraction. The day's journey weighed on him heavily, but they couldn't afford to rest without direction. They had to find leads—preferably before some cosmic threat or watchers cornered them again.
They decided to regroup in a short while, freshen up, then explore the town. Xion rummaged in his pack for a clean shirt—he only had one left—while Lillian adjusted her hair, tying back the silver-black strands in a practical braid. A sense of quiet resolve settled between them.
---
Refreshed from a quick rinse of faces and hands in a water basin, they stepped back into the main tavern area. Afternoon light filtered through the windows, revealing more patrons than before. A hush fell for a moment as some noticed the newcomers, but Tovin's genial laughter at the bar resumed, and the tension dissipated.
They approached the barkeep. "We're new in Grenspar," Xion said, "looking for specialized knowledge—magical items, obscure lore. Any leads?"
Tovin let out a belly-laugh. "Hah! You'll find folks hawking runic axes or 'magic charms,' but half of it's nonsense. He scratched his chin. "If you're after real arcane knowledge, you might try the local scribbler... old man Aston. He keeps records in his workshop near the sawmill. Or talk to Captain Rellan of the town guard—he deals with every bizarre rumor folks bring in."
They thanked him, ordering a small meal—roasted venison and fresh bread—before heading out. Tovin's suggestions gave them a starting point: a record-keeper or a guard captain might hold scraps of lore. They left the tavern, stepping into the bustle of late afternoon.
First, they decided to find old man Aston, seeing if his records included anything about Epitaph detection. Tovin had said his workshop was near the sawmill, so they followed the sound of roaring saws. Soot and sawdust filled the air, workers maneuvering massive logs onto conveyors. The air smelled of resin and freshly cut wood.
Finally, they spotted a small shack off the main sawmill yard, a crude sign reading LEDGERS & MEASURES. A single door stood ajar, revealing a cramped interior stuffed with shelves of scrolls and ledgers. Lillian led the way inside.
A stooped figure with a patchy white beard and ink-stained fingers was hunched over a table. He muttered to himself, flipping pages in a ledger. The moment Xion and Lillian stepped in, he glanced up, adjusting thick spectacles.
"Yes, yes?" he asked, voice crackling with age. "If you need shipping records or property lines, I only handle local transactions. The name's Aston. I don't do personal errands."
Xion forced a polite smile. "We're not here for property. We're travelers seeking unusual knowledge. Possibly older records that mention... well, magical phenomena."
Aston snorted. "Magical phenomena? In Grenspar? We cut trees, we shape lumber. That's it." He reached for a quill. "Unless you mean the old complaints about haunted glades."
Lillian stepped forward. "We're specifically interested in references to Epitaphs, cosmic anomalies, or anything that defies normal reality. Have you come across such mentions in your archiving?"
Aston paused, blinking behind his spectacles. "Epitaphs, you say? A fearsome word. He set the quill down carefully. "You're not with the Divine Concord, right? They get jumpy about that sort of talk."
"No," Xion assured him. "Just curious."
The old man exhaled a shaky breath. "There's little in local records, but I recall a passing rumor some years back— he tapped his temple, "I wrote down a complaint from some loggers who swore they saw a 'weeping statue that spoke of Epitaphs' in the eastern forest. Never verified. He rummaged through a shelf, pulling out a dog-eared ledger. "Yes, yes... flipping pages, "there was mention of a certain traveler named Gilseth who claimed to carry a broken relic inscribed with the word 'Epitaph.' But he was run out of town for trying to peddle illusions or swindle folks."
Hope and frustration warred in Xion's chest. "Any clue where Gilseth went?"
Aston shrugged. "Probably further east, or south. That was... seven or eight years ago. I doubt he's around." He rubbed his beard. "As for cosmic anomalies, I have local lore about old ruins deeper in the forest— he pointed at another scroll, "but nothing explicitly about Epitaph detection."
Lillian's shoulders slumped. "Thank you, anyway."
"One more question," Xion said, a tinge of desperation creeping in. "Have you heard rumors about an item—a lens or device—that can reveal if someone is tied to an Epitaph?"
Aston blinked, then slowly shook his head. "Not in Grenspar, no. If such a device existed, it'd be in a bigger city's black market or hidden with the Sealed Academies.He sighed. "You might try the local guard captain for rumored contraband. If something strange passes through, he'd know."
They thanked him, leaving a small tip for his trouble. He seemed oddly relieved to see them go, as though the topic unsettled him. Xion exchanged a disheartened look with Lillian. Another dead end, albeit with a small thread: Captain Rellan might have heard contraband whispers. And the mention of Gilseth—someone who carried a relic with the word 'Epitaph'—stirred Xion's curiosity, even if the lead was years old.
---
They headed next to the guard barracks, a sturdy stone building near the town's modest walls. Evening draped the sky in oranges and purples. The watch changed shifts at the gate. Townsfolk bustled, finishing chores. A couple of guard recruits sparred in a yard behind the barracks, wooden swords clacking. Xion approached a stocky guard posted by the main entrance.
"We'd like to speak with Captain Rellan," Lillian said calmly. "We have inquiries about unusual contraband or arcane items."
The guard squinted. "Rellan might be in his office, but he doesn't see just anyone. State your business."
Xion cleared his throat. "We suspect certain relics might pass through Grenspar—dangerous ones. He tried not to lie. "We want to ensure no trouble arises from them."
The guard frowned, then shrugged. "I'll tell him. Wait here."
He vanished inside, leaving Xion and Lillian in the yard. They shared an anxious glance. After a few minutes, the guard returned, beckoning them in. They walked a short corridor into a cramped office lined with racks of outdated spears. Behind a desk sat a lean, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a battered breastplate over a simple tunic. He exuded the air of someone who'd seen every local problem imaginable. A nameplate read: CAPTAIN RELLAN.
He gestured for them to sit in two rickety chairs. "So. You come asking about contraband relics?" he said, voice tinged with suspicion.
"We're travelers," Lillian explained, "researching certain arcane items. We were told you might hear about unusual traffic—smugglers, merchants dealing in strange goods."
Rellan tapped a quill on the desk, eyes narrowed. "Strange goods, hmm? We mostly deal with stolen lumber or petty crimes. Not many black-market magi-stones around these parts. Unless you consider the occasional traveling illusionist." He paused. "What exactly do you want?"
Xion inhaled. The last thing they needed was to alarm a local official by naming Epitaphs outright. "We're particularly curious about items that break normal laws of nature. He chose his words carefully, hoping Rellan recognized the seriousness without dismissing them as fools. "Something that could reveal or bestow powers no normal mage can replicate."
Rellan studied them, leaning back. "You're chasing big rumors, stranger. Grenspar is a humble town. We do get the odd swindler selling fake artifacts. He paused, lips thinning. "But... there was a case a few months ago. A con artist claimed to have an 'Epitaph Mirror' that could show one's destiny. Caused a stir, then vanished overnight." He eyed them sharply. "Why do you ask about such nonsense?"
Lillian's composure held. "We encountered illusions in our travels that might be tied to relics. If an Epitaph Mirror was here, it could lead to bigger problems. We only want to prevent... incidents."
Rellan scoffed. "Incidents? If that mirror was real, we'd have bigger issues than a few con artists." He scratched his chin. "I heard the man fled east, perhaps to the region near the Ebonwood Marsh." He shrugged. "But that was rumor upon rumor." Another pause. "Look, I sympathize if you're genuine. But I don't have time to chase every arcane rumor. Grenspar's got bandits, trade disputes, and the occasional beast. That's enough."
Xion pressed a final question. "What about an old traveler named Gilseth, or talk of an Epitaph-labeled relic from years past?"
Rellan's brow creased in vague recognition. "Gilseth... The name rings a bell. He was some kind of peddler with exotic trinkets, came through a long while ago. Caused trouble with fraudulent claims. I believe he left after folks threatened him. Could be anywhere now."
A wave of disappointment threatened to overshadow Xion. The leads were ephemeral, scattered. No immediate path to confirm or deny the presence of a dormant Epitaph in him. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Thank you, Captain. We'll not waste more of your time."
Rellan gave a curt nod. "If you stir up trouble, I'll remember your faces. Otherwise, good luck."
They exited the barracks, stepping into the dusk-chilled air. Lanterns along the street flickered to life, revealing a modest but lively town settling in for the evening. Lillian exhaled, frustration mirrored in her eyes.
"We keep hitting vague rumors," she said. "Epitaph Mirror, Gilseth... illusions, con artists." She shook her head. "Nothing concrete about detecting your potential Epitaph, or forging a path to the Hall of Glass."
Xion gently touched her shoulder. "Every rumor gets us closer. We escaped one labyrinth; we can handle the next." He forced a smile. "At least we aren't fighting memory leeches tonight."
She chuckled softly. "True. Let's return to the tavern, plan our next move. We might glean more from townsfolk tomorrow."
They headed back through the muddy streets. The shift from a swirling city of illusions to a normal settlement tested Xion's patience: he was on a cosmic quest, yet forced to wade through everyday rumors. But every step away from chaos, every minor clue, reminded him he was forging a new path. If an Epitaph Mirror or relic truly existed, he'd find it, no matter how many leads it took.
---
Night draped Grenspar fully. The tavern bustled with loggers and traders unwinding over ale. Xion and Lillian found a corner table, sipping a warm stew Tovin prepared. Unlike Veluria or the savage roads, this environment felt almost tranquil—rustic chatter, the smell of spiced broth, the occasional laugh. Xion's sword rested at his side, a silent reminder of the illusions and watchers they had fled.
He leaned close to Lillian. "Tomorrow, we ask around more systematically. Maybe an old retainer or traveling merchant has heard of deeper arcane pursuits. If that fails, we move on, following Gilseth's rumored path or searching for that Epitaph Mirror rumor."
Lillian nodded, swirling her spoon. "Agreed. We won't linger too long if we reach a dead end. This quest is bigger than one place."
"And if the watchers or Chrona appear?" Xion asked quietly.
She offered a grim half-smile. "We face them as we did everything else. Together."
A sense of fragile hope blossomed. They had no illusions about the scale of the cosmic puzzle, but they weren't alone. If Xion had to unlock an Epitaph or some paradoxical power, better to do so with an ally who understood the dangers.
They finished dinner as raucous talk swelled around them. Tired, they retreated to their room, ignoring the passing glances from bar patrons. The wooden stairs creaked. Once inside, they bolted the door. A single lantern lit the modest space.
Xion dropped onto the bed, exhaling. Lillian removed her boots, rubbing sore feet. "At least we can rest without illusions," she mused. "I'll take that as a victory."
He smiled wearily. A victory indeed. The last few days had been a whirlwind—Veluria, watchers, Chrona, memory-leech abominations. Now, a normal bed in a normal town felt surreal. He rummaged in his pack, flipping open the battered notebook:
> Goals
> 1. Investigate local rumors of relics (Epitaph Mirror, Gilseth).
> 2. If unsuccessful, head east or south, track black markets or rumored scholars.
> 3. Remain vigilant for watchers, illusions, or cosmic enforcers like Chrona.
He underlined the third line, remembering how easily new threats had appeared. Lillian peered over his shoulder, nodding. She then dug out her own small parchment, jotting notes about local leads. The synergy in their actions was reassuring.
They prepared for bed with a final check of weapons and staff. The tension lingered, but so did a subdued optimism: They had found a foothold in normal society again. As they settled into the unremarkable but comforting environment, Xion felt the weight of cosmic destiny pressing less heavily on his chest.
Eventually, sleep claimed them.
Yet sometime past midnight, a prickle of awareness surfaced in Xion's mind. In half-dream, he thought he glimpsed the corridor of reflections again—the infinite Xions, each brandishing a different blade or staff, locked in battles he couldn't see. Distantly, a chain's faint ticking sounded, reminiscent of Chrona's presence. Then, a swirl of black starry void consumed the corridor, and he jolted awake, heart pounding.
He sat up, exhaling. The room was quiet, Lillian dozing softly. Moonlight slanted through the window. No illusions, no watchers... Just a nightmare. Or a prophecy. He forced himself to lie back, hand gripping the hilt of his sword in reassurance. Slowly, his heartbeat calmed, and he drifted once more into uneasy rest.
---
Morning arrived with a clamorous bustle from the street: carts rolling by, laborers shouting. Xion rose, blinking at the sunbeams piercing the small window. Lillian was already awake, tidying her staff. They shared a quiet greeting.
"Ready to rummage through rumors again?" she asked, half-smiling.
He nodded, a swirl of determination fueling him. "Let's see if Grenspar holds any deeper secrets. If not... we keep moving."
And so they gathered their belongings, planning a day of subtle inquiries among merchants, travelers, or any local who might have encountered the phrase "Epitaph" in more than just rumor. They would avoid raising Concord suspicions. The watchers might lurk anywhere. Chrona could appear at any moment. But for now, they had a path forward—a normal town, normal methods of searching.
As they stepped into the tavern's main room for breakfast, Tovin greeted them with a hearty grin, oblivious to cosmic concerns. The clamor of daily life enveloped them. In the swirl of wooden bowls, simple laughter, and the tang of fresh bread, Xion sensed a cautious serenity. He was no closer to definitively proving his Epitaph-like condition or finding the Hall of Glass, but he had one precious commodity: time.
He resolved that he would not waste that time. Even if fate tried to rewrite him again, he would carve his own lines into destiny. The memory of that ephemeral glow around his sword reminded him he was not powerless. He might bear a paradox within him—he might even be forging one. He and Lillian would not rest until they uncovered the truth, even if it took them to hidden corners of the world, into battles with watchers, or direct confrontation with cosmic forces.
From Veluria's illusions to a humble logging town, their odyssey continued. Every rumor about Epitaphs, every mention of old relics, every cryptic whisper from beyond reality—the puzzle pieces lay scattered. Xion's determination, stoked by Lillian's unwavering support, propelled them forward. He was an anomaly in a world that refused to let him exist, but he would exist anyway, forging a new chapter—one the rewriting of existence might never erase.
Outside, Grenspar awakened. And so did Xion's resolve, shining through the mundane morning like an ember of paradox that could not be snuffed out.