Days had passed since Lian left the temple.
Time had lost its meaning;
the forest surrounding Almagh seemed to blur one day into another.
There was no longer any difference between dawn and dusk —
the sky always gray,
the wind always carrying the same echo.
As he walked, Lian listened to the silence within him —
the silence of his own transformation.
The color of his soul was no longer constant.
Through the violet ran fine black veins,
shifting at times toward gray, at times toward blue.
He no longer possessed a fixed soul.
And in Zeharra, that was dangerous.
For colorlessness was the first step toward the Void —
and yet, also, the first step toward freedom.
One night, as he reached the edge of the forest, he saw a light.
At first, he thought it a star.
But then he realized — the light touched the earth.
A silhouette approached:
a man in a white cloak,
a golden seal engraved upon the staff in his hand.
The man's face was aged, but his gaze was sharp.
In his eyes, Lian's violet soul flickered.
He could feel it — sense it.
"You do not belong here," the man said softly.
His voice was gentle, yet absolute.
"This is an observation field."
Lian did not step back.
"Observation?" he said, his tone edged with irony.
"Can you still observe anything in soil the Void has already taken root in?"
The seal upon the staff glowed faintly —
the symbol of the Wardens of Light.
An ancient order of Zeharra.
They did not seek to fight the Void,
but to restore emotional equilibrium.
Excessive anger, excessive sorrow, even excessive hope —
all were invitations to the Void's echo.
As the man drew nearer, the air grew soft with pale light.
The atmosphere calmed.
Lian could feel it —
an energy opposite to the Void,
and yet… oppressive in its own way.
"Your soul is unstable," said the elder.
"It carries more than one frequency.
That disturbs balance."
Lian smiled faintly.
"Balance?
The only chaos in this world lies in those who worship balance."
The man inhaled deeply.
"You carry the Void's echo."
"Yes," Lian said quietly.
"I did not silence it. I listened."
For the first time, unease crossed the man's serene face.
"You play a dangerous game.
Those who seek to understand the Void… become its voice."
At that moment, figures emerged from the fog —
white-cloaked wardens encircling him.
They struck their staffs upon the ground;
waves rippled through the stone.
Rings of light closed around Lian —
but it was not heat they carried.
It was silence.
An energy that smothered emotion,
that muted thought itself.
For a moment, Lian felt his own mind dim.
The violet glow of his soul began to fade.
It was as if his very existence had been erased.
But then — the gray veins within him began to shimmer.
And from deep within, the Void's echo whispered:
"The Light seeks to silence you.
But the Dark… it listens."
Lian closed his eyes and breathed.
And in that breath, the violet returned —
deeper now, sharper, alive.
The circles of light began to fracture.
The white staffs trembled, their seals dimming.
The light's pressure collided with the Void's residue inside him.
Two opposing forces — not warring, but balancing.
Lian raised his hand.
A surge of violet energy struck against the white.
There was a silent explosion —
light and shadow entwining,
merging into a gray halo that rippled through the night.
The Wardens were thrown back.
The old man steadied himself with his staff,
his voice trembling.
"This… this cannot be.
The Void and the soul cannot coexist for long within one vessel."
Lian walked past him, calm as mist.
As he passed, he whispered:
"Perhaps your mistake is trying to separate them."
The old man fell to his knees.
In his eyes burned both fear and wonder.
"You are violating Zeharra's law of balance."
Lian stopped.
"No," he said softly.
"I am reminding you of the part you forgot."
Then he turned and walked away.
Back into the forest —
where the white lights dimmed, one by one.
When he was gone, the elder struck his staff against the ground once more.
The golden seal reignited —
but this time, a line of violet ran through it.
Its purity was broken.
And in a whisper that trembled like prophecy, he said:
"The balance… is breaking."
By the time Lian reached the forest's edge, night had fully descended.
The sky remained gray — but he had grown used to it.
Within his soul, two voices spoke —
one his own,
the other the echo of the Void.
And for the first time,
those two voices spoke in harmony.
"Light and darkness are both watching you, Lian."
"Let them," Lian thought.
"I am only listening."
Before his violet light faded,
the wind carried one final echo:
"Zeharra will remember balance again…"