His breath returned, regular but different. As if the air he now inhaled carried a metallic quality, an aftertaste of ether. Dylan stood up, refusing the help Julius offered. His own hand, when he looked at it, seemed normal. Yet, he perceived a shimmer at its periphery, like heat above a fire. The echo.
"You need rest," declared Valeria, her voice cutting through the camp's post-traumatic silence. "But not a soldier's rest. That of a... student."
She approached, her scrutinizing gaze sweeping over his face, his aura. "The Source-Gate left a mark. A psychic imprint. It's not possession, it's... a resonance. You are tuned to a frequency it emitted. Marcus might be able to map it."
Marcus stepped forward, looking dubious. "Map an extra-dimensional consciousness imprint? My dear, you take me for an abyssal librarian. I can attempt to visualize it. To contain it, perhaps. Not to explain it."
