The morning after the dream did not heal anything.
Adam moved through Angkara as if half of him had not followed his footsteps out of sleep. His body did what it had learned to do. It carried water. It lifted wood. It tied torn rope. Yet his thoughts stayed somewhere else. Somewhere that smelled like medicine and tears.
He helped Ernand repair the crooked fence near the east path. He understood most instructions now. When Ernand said "pull," Adam pulled. When he said "tighten," Adam tightened. When he said "wrong side," Adam fixed it.
His speech had grown better too.
Not smooth. Not natural.
But possible.
Villagers spoke to him slowly. He answered in short pieces.
"Yes.""I will.""Later.""Thank you."
He tried longer sentences sometimes. He stumbled. They waited. They did not laugh.
Still, no warmth stayed with him.
Not today.
Not after the dream.
Near midday, Ernand paused while carrying planks. He stood too still. His eyes locked on the northern road.
Adam followed his gaze.
Someone was coming.
A single traveler walked out of the dust.
Her steps were even. Her back was straight. Not traveling for shelter. Not traveling in fear.
She carried a staff. Simple wood. Smoothed by use. Not a mage's tool.
By the time she reached the village gate, three men stood with Ernand.
Children stopped playing.
Dogs went quiet.
The woman raised her eyes and spoke one word.
"Adam."
No accent.
No struggle.
Perfect word.
Adam felt his stomach tighten.
Ernand glanced at him. "You know him?"
The woman studied Adam more than she studied Ernand.
"I heard of him from Akhtar of Scholar Town." She answers Ernand question.
Hearing Akhtar name, Adam stepped closer.
"You… looking… for me?" he asked.
She gave a slight nod. "Yes."
Her voice carried no dust of travel. No strain.
"My name is Adelia," she said. "I come from the North Academies. I study World Veil events."
Ernand crossed his arms.
"What is that?" he asked.
Her eyes never left Adam. "Scars between worlds."
That word dug into him.
Worlds.
Ernand exhaled through his nose. "You may speak. But not alone. Not in secret."
Adelia inclined her head.
They sat beneath the broad tree near Lorna's home.
She placed her staff aside as if it were unimportant. She folded her cloak slowly. Everything about her said control. Nothing about her said comfort.
She looked at Adam the way one looks at something rare, not the way one looks at something holy.
"Do you know what a veil is?" she asked.
Adam shook his head. "Cloth… maybe."
She nodded. "Think of reality as layered cloth. Pressed together. Most places are thick. Some are thin."
She pointed to the air beside him.
"When thin places tear, things cross."
Adam swallowed. "Things?"
"Memories. Objects. Energy." She paused. "Souls."
His fingers curled into his knee.
"You saying… other worlds real?" he asked.
"I say evidence exists," she replied. "And you stand in between."
Breath caught in his chest.
She continued. "A World Veil is not a door. It is tension. When it stretches too far, it breaks its own rules."
"And people… come through," Adam said.
She did not answer immediately.
"Sometimes," she said carefully.
"I have seen four cases in my life. Two died. One faded. One disappeared."
Adam asked, quietly, "And me?"
Her eyes did not soften. They sharpened.
"You survived."Then, gentler, "Which means you did not arrive whole."
That sentence did not land perfectly.
"Not all at once." She continue.
"What mean… not whole?" He asked.
She leaned forward slightly.
"You did not cross with a body."
His breath stilled.
"You crossed as pattern," she said. "Not flesh."
Adam stared at the grass.
She lifted her staff and pressed it lightly into the dirt.
"Your soul entered first. This world responded."
He did not speak.
She did.
"This body is a vessel."
The word rang inside Adam.
Vessel.
Not man.Not son.Not self.
Vessel.
He whispered, "Not… my body?"
She hesitated this time.
"In my research," she said, "your current form matches the mana reaction pattern. Not your original biology."
He stared at his hands.
They looked real.They felt real.
"My heart… my blood…?" he asked.
"Functional," she replied. "But not native."
A weight pressed inside his chest.
"So… I not human?" he said.
She chose her words.
"You are human by memory," she said. "Not by origin."
Adam shook his head slowly.
"No… no… this wrong…"
He touched his arms. His face. His chest.
This was his body.
It had always been.
"You can be wrong," he said. His voice cracked.
Adelia did not deny him.
"I could," she said.
Silence passed.
Wind stirred leaves.
Lorna watched from her door.
Ernand did not interrupt.
Adam lowered his hands.
Then whispered, "My mother…"
Adelia blinked once.
"She… okay?" he asked.
"Possibly," she said. "Your crossing did not require death."
"So… I not die?"
"I do not sense decay," she said. "I sense interruption."
That word hurt worse than death.
Interruption.
A life paused.
A home left unfinished.
His voice shook. "Then she… waiting?"
She did not answer.
Not with comfort.
Not with denial.
"I believe your soul left without the body dying," she said. "I cannot promise you anything beyond that."
Adam folded inward.
Not crying.
Not screaming.
Just breaking carefully.
Then he asked, low, "Why me?"
Adelia exhaled.
"The world did not choose you," she said.
That answer hit harder than prophecy.
"It reacted to you."
"Not plan?" he asked.
"No."
"No meaning?"
"No assigned meaning." She answer bluntly.
Adam laughed once.
It sounded empty.
"So… storm?" he asked. "Light?"
"Manifestation," she said. "Your soul carries a structure. Mana translates it into effect."
"You mean… accident?" he asked.
She thought.
"Interaction," she corrected.
Silence swallowed the space between them.
Then Adam asked the question he feared.
"Church… they know?"
She hesitated.
"Yes," she said. "Some do."
"Why fear me?" he asked.
"They believe vessels are gifts of the Light. You are not theirs."
That answer chilled him.
"They watch this village now?" he asked.
"Yes," she said.
That was when the true fear arrived.
Not of himself.
But of attention. To him and the village.
"You… want study me," he said.
"Yes," she replied.
Not cold.
Not greedy.
Honest.
"I want know why you did not collapse," she continued. "And what may collapse because of you."
He closed his eyes.
Then nodded once.
"I will… help."
She inclined her head.
Then stood.
"I will return," she said.
"When?" he asked.
"When it matters."
She picked up her staff.
Before leaving, she looked at him once more.
"You are not chosen," she said.
He met her eyes.
"You are unresolved."
Then she walked north.
Long after she vanished, Adam stayed where he sat.
Lorna brought him water.
He did not see it.
His hands began to shake.
Not from shock.
But from imbalance.
The air around him tingled.
Just once.
Then stopped.
He whispered, barely hearing himself.
"So this… what I am."
No one answered.
But the wind no longer felt empty.
It felt thin.