The transit platform slowed until it seemed to hang in nothingness.
Kael stepped forward, expecting the sensation of air, gravity, something. Instead, the platform simply… stopped existing beneath his feet, and yet he did not fall. The world — if this even counted as a world — rearranged itself around him.
First Impressions
It wasn't one piece. It wasn't even ten.
The realm was a shattered mosaic of floating landmasses, each piece twisting slowly in the void like islands adrift on a black ocean that had swallowed the stars. The "sky" above him was streaked with cracks of light that pulsed faintly, like the fractured edges of a broken mirror catching the sun.
Some of the fragments were as large as continents, others barely big enough to hold a single twisted tree. Rivers cascaded from one shard to another, falling in endless arcs of glittering water until they either hit another fragment or simply poured into the void.
And then there was the glow.
Far in the distance, beyond the shifting fragments, a golden light pulsed like the slow beat of a heart. It wasn't fixed — it flickered between locations, sometimes distant, sometimes uncomfortably close. Each pulse sent a ripple through the realm, subtly altering the positions of the landmasses.
Kael turned to Lyra. "I'm guessing that's important."
"That," she said, "is the Core Anchor. The realm's stability depends on it. And it's… compromised."
"Compromised how?"
"Two words: internal politics."
A Realm in Pieces
The platform dissolved under his feet, and the next instant, Kael was standing on solid ground — or rather, what passed for it here. The shard they'd landed on was a long stretch of blackstone ridge, topped with patches of wiry grass that looked more like coral than plant life.
The air was thin but breathable, carrying a faint metallic tang.
Ahead, a cluster of structures clung to the ridge like barnacles. They weren't quite buildings in the human sense — more like jagged spires and curved shells fused together, each glowing faintly from within. Shapes moved between them: tall, slender figures with elongated limbs and faces hidden behind silver masks.
"They're called Shyrr," Lyra said. "Native to this realm. Highly territorial. Highly paranoid."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "And we're just going to walk in?"
Lyra started forward. "You're the Provisional Sovereign. They will hear you."
"They'll hear me," Kael muttered. "Listening's another matter."
The First Negotiation
As they approached, two masked Shyrr stepped forward, each carrying a weapon that looked like a staff with a spiraling blade along one side. Their movements were perfectly mirrored — same angle of the head, same subtle shift of stance.
The one on the left spoke, its voice flat and layered, as though multiple tones were speaking in unison."Outsiders are not welcome. State your purpose or be unmade."
Kael froze. "I— uh—"
Lyra didn't even look at him. "He is your Sovereign."
The Shyrr tilted their heads, perfectly in sync. "The Nexus title means nothing here. The Core Anchor belongs to the Triarch. Speak against this, and you die."
"Friendly bunch," Kael said under his breath.
Lyra stepped back half a pace. "Your trial. Convince them to grant you passage to the Core Anchor. If you fail, we return to the Nexus empty-handed — and you fail your first cycle."
"Wait, I thought I had thirty cycles—"
"You do. But fail the first, and the rest become irrelevant."
Kael took a breath. He was no diplomat. He'd handled tough negotiations before — project budgets, resource disputes — but this? This was a whole new level.
"I'm not here to take the Anchor," he began slowly. "I'm here because your realm is breaking apart. Every pulse from that thing shifts the fragments more. If we don't stabilize it—"
"The Anchor is stable," the left Shyrr interrupted.
"Stable?" Kael gestured to the void. "You call this stable?"
Neither guard moved. The mirrored stance made them unreadable.
The Crack in the Mask
Kael shifted tactics. "Look — you don't have to trust me. But tell me this: have the pulses gotten stronger lately?"
A pause.
"Yes," the right Shyrr admitted at last.
"And when the pulses come, do the fractures in your land grow?"
Another pause. "Yes."
"Then you already know the Anchor isn't stable. I'm not here to steal it. I'm here to fix it."
The guards looked at one another — not perfectly mirrored this time.
Finally, the left one lowered their weapon. "You will speak to the Triarch. If you lie, your unmaking will be slow."
"Looking forward to it," Kael muttered.
The Triarch
They led him through the settlement, past Shyrr of varying sizes and postures. Some watched him openly, others from behind narrow slits in their shell-like dwellings. All wore masks, each with unique patterns etched into the silver.
At the center of the ridge stood a circular platform, open to the void on all sides. Three tall figures waited there, each wearing more elaborate masks than the guards. They stood equidistant, forming a perfect triangle.
The central figure spoke first. "The Nexus sends a Sovereign. We expected someone… greater."
"Story of my life," Kael said.
The figure to the left tilted their head. "You claim the Anchor is failing."
"It's not a claim," Kael said. "It's an observable fact."
The right-hand figure's voice was sharp. "And you believe you can fix what even we cannot?"
Kael hesitated — then decided to go all in. "I don't believe. I will."
Terms of Access
They considered him for a long, tense moment.
Finally, the central Triarch spoke. "The Anchor is not unguarded. The Drifters have made their nest there."
Lyra's tone went flat. "Drifters?"
"Void parasites," the Triarch explained. "They feed on the Anchor's energy. Remove them, and we will allow you to attempt stabilization."
Kael glanced at Lyra. "Sounds simple enough."
"It won't be," she said. "Drifters are… adaptive."
The Triarch's voice turned cold. "Then perhaps we will learn whether the Nexus chose well… or poorly."
Leaving the Settlement
As Kael and Lyra left, the guards handed him a strange object: a slender rod of dark metal, warm to the touch. "Pulse-spear," Lyra explained. "It emits a burst that disrupts Drifter cohesion."
Kael looked at the weapon. "So they're not solid?"
"They're barely real," she said. "That's the problem."
"And the solution?"
Lyra's lips curved — not quite a smile. "Make them real enough to kill."
Kael gripped the spear and looked toward the distant glow of the Anchor, its light pulsing in the void.
First cycle. First realm. First fight.
No pressure.