In the center of the vastness floating between realities, Fenra stood firm, her feet planted on a platform of distorted matter—an illusion of ground created by her own energy. Everything around her seemed unstable, as if space had been forgotten by the gods and now writhed, trying to remember what it was.
And before her, stood her.
With steps so light the very air dared not resist, Vernasha walked as if the war were merely a melody playing in the background. Her robes billowed like living smoke, and her eyes… held no hurry.
— Did you know fate is merely a game of mirrors, Fenra? — she said, her voice made of murmurs and echoes, as if each syllable were breathed by an ancient version of the world. — Some run in circles believing they are advancing. Others… shatter the mirror and cut themselves on the shards, swearing they have made progress.
Fenra did not answer. Her fingers were ready to summon her ethereal weapons, but something in the atmosphere made everything feel… slower. As if even time had surrendered to the presence of the woman before her.
The space was allowing for the creation of new abilities, but nothing temporal.
Only individual and combat-oriented.
Vernasha continued:
— There is a child, out there… walking amidst the dust, stepping in footprints he swore he never wanted to follow. And before him, an ancient shadow, with storm-filled eyes and a forgotten name… She too thought she was free.
Fenra narrowed her eyes.
— You speak as if everything were decided. As if we were merely pieces — she said, coldly.
Vernasha smiled, almost tenderly.
— "Were"? Oh, dear. You still harbor doubts.
— Do you see the end? — Fenra questioned, taking slow steps forward. — Or do you only pretend to, to keep others in the dark?
The woman rotated her wrist, and the air around her rippled like water touched by poison. The spatial debris moved in response.
— I merely read the patterns. Like threads on a cosmic loom…
Sometimes, a blue thread decides to intertwine with a red one.
Other times, a golden thread tears through the weave—out of pride, out of fear… or love.
But in the end… everything returns to the original fabric. It always returns.
Fenra summoned a spear made of ethereal matter and threw it without hesitation.
Vernasha moved as if dancing between ideas. The weapon passed through her body—or what seemed to be it—as if through a dream.
— Still trying to pierce the mirror, Fenra? — She whispered, now behind her opponent. — That is dangerous. Sometimes… it wounds those who try to see too much.
The warrior spun with precision and attacked. Swords appeared in her hands like branches of the void itself, but Vernasha evaded, always with a step, a gesture, a touch of the air. Nothing about her seemed real, and yet, everything about her was a threat.
— You know what I speak of, don't you? — Vernasha continued. — Two souls intertwined by thunder. One marked by the burden of choice… and the other… by the pain of having been forgotten.
— Speak with names… — Fenra murmured.
The woman before her laughed, soft as the sound of a blade being drawn.
— Names are limitations, my flower. I speak of pieces…
…of a game that began long before any of us existed.
Fenra stopped.
She could guess who the wielder of thunder might be, but what did it mean?
Who was the other person?
Her eyes, once firm, hesitated for an instant.
— And what is your role, then? The game master? The goddess of chaos?
Vernasha looked toward the broken horizon.
— Ah… I am merely the remembrance.
The one who whispers to kings who are dreaming.
The one who laughs when the pieces believe they moved on their own.
She spun her body, and the distortion around her exploded in spirals of energy. Fenra had to retreat, protecting herself with an unstable barrier. The pressure of reality seemed to shatter around Vernasha like glass.
The combat intensified with every moment.
Between enigmas and mysteries, a death would arise.
Which of them would it be?
— But if you wish to call me something… call me "The Web."
All roads lead to the center, and I am that center.
Fenra felt her heart beat faster—not from fear, but from understanding.
That fight was more than a physical confrontation.
It was a battle against a hidden scheme, against the notion that nothing they did would change the course.
But Fenra was stubborn.
She smiled, even facing the invisible storm rising before her.
— You are not the center. You are just the plague living in it.
— Will you defy nature itself?
— Of course, especially since it confirmed that I am the only one who can stop whatever your plan is.
— You struggle like prey, trying to deny what is already woven. Do you not see? All roads lead to me. I am The Web—not the beginning, not the end. Merely the center that holds it all.
— The center? You are nothing but a poorly tied knot. And I was born to cut threads, Vernasha. All of them.
— It seems I shall have to educate such an ill-mannered child.
Vernasha smiled, her eyes shining.
And she launched herself forward.
The dance had begun.
And even if the mirror cracked, Fenra would choose to cut herself a thousand times before allowing the world to bend to another's destiny.
(…)
Pain throbbed in Tekio's face. His left eye burned as if being cauterized from within. The blood flowed, warm, covering part of his jaw and dripping onto the ground.
But he was on his feet.
— Mei… — he murmured, his wide eyes fixed on the void, as if he could still feel the thread of her soul being pulled taut. — Not now… please…
His fingers clenched tightly. Lightning danced around his body, unstable, shaped by desperation.
Karmore stood panting, but her expression was chaos.
Blood streamed from her eyes like tears of crimson glass.
— I… I don't want to be this — she said, between whispers. Her voice sounded like two: one trying to resist, the other wanting to devour. — I just wanted… just wanted to remember the warmth… the voice… the name…
The curse inside her screamed in response, tearing Karmore's aura into thorns. It tried to silence, to bury, to suffocate.
— SILENCE. YOU ARE HATRED. YOU ARE VOID.
— No… I was someone… before you… before all of this…
Amara's soul wept behind the screams. Wept as if lost for centuries, buried under eons of pain.
Tekio staggered to the center of the field. The rubble around them still fell in pieces.
— Amara… if you can hear me… if there is still a corner, a whisper of you in there… — he raised his fist, wreathed in electricity. — Fight.
Karmore charged like an uncontrolled beast, her eyes shining like bloody beacons. But Tekio now moved differently.
It wasn't just strength. It was conviction.
Every block was precise, every counterattack was restrained—and yet, devastating. They flew through walls, fell down broken staircases, spun amidst concrete, glass, and steel. A chaos in motion.
The fight was violent. But it was not between enemies.
It was between two screams.
Two cries for help.
And Tekio heard them. Every blow from Karmore held pain. Every advance, desperation.
— Remember Yara? — Tekio shouted during an exchange of blows. — She never forgot you.
The impact exploded in energy.
— I… I dreamed of her. — Karmore stammered, her eyes wide with pain. — But the voice… it faded. The face faded… as if something pulled me away…
— It was the curse. — Tekio gripped her arm tightly, stopping the next blow. — But you still have a choice.
The mark on Karmore's back glowed in a somber tone, like a living wound.
And, inside her soul, Amara screamed.
— I don't want to forget anymore.
— I don't want to kill anymore.
But the curse reacted with fury. Spiritual claws emerged and shoved Amara's consciousness back into the darkness.
Karmore let out a guttural scream, and a black aura erupted, pushing Tekio back with brutal force.
His body flew backward, but even in mid-air, he twisted, landing on his feet on the concrete.
His body trembled.
He knew he had to go.
The Veil was opening completely now, and Mei's presence was growing fainter and fainter.
But Tekio looked ahead.
Karmore trembled, fallen to her knees, covered in blood, dust, and darkness.
Her soul was still there, buried… but alive.
Yara whispered from within him:
— Go, Tekio… go save Mei… I… I trust that she will find her way out. That she will find you again.
Tekio hesitated. One step back.
But then… Karmore looked at him. Not with rage. Not with fury.
With regret.
With eyes… that were human.
— Tekio…
The first time she had spoken his name with her own voice.
It was not the curse.
It was Amara.
He stopped.
Silence.
The two stared at each other, amidst the dust and the remnants of battle.
Time seemed to have stopped. Their marks still burned, like open scars, connected by something greater than either could understand.
— You will come back — said Tekio, his voice low, firm. — I know you will. And I will be waiting.
He turned his back.
He left the fragmented soul behind.
Because now, another soul was calling him.
Mei was dying.
And Tekio could not lose anyone else.
To be continued…