The night in Luminar never truly grew dark. Even when the moon hid behind drifting silver clouds, stray wisps of astral light seeped from the great world-tree's branches, faint as dying embers yet persistent. Aeryn followed the Elder's attendant through the elevated walkways, each step bringing him deeper into the heart of the city. The air shimmered with muted energy that resonated against his chest—not enough to threaten him, but enough to remind him that this place was closer to the origin of magic than any land he had ever walked.
He expected to be led toward the outer sanctums or perhaps a ceremonial hall. But instead, the attendant stopped before a spiraling wooden lift grown directly from the trunk. Its bark glowed in faint streaks of blue, as if veins of light pulsed through it.
"This ascent leads to the Inner Veil," the attendant said, voice hushed. "Only those permitted by the Elder may step inside. Once we pass the Veil, speak only when spoken to."
Aeryn nodded. His pulse quickened, not from fear but anticipation. The Elder's earlier words had stirred something heavy within him—something he didn't yet understand.
They stepped onto the lift. At the attendant's light touch, the bark trembled and slowly rose, carrying them through the hollow interior of the tree. The scent of sap was strong, earthy, ancient. Aeryn felt faint vibrations travel through the soles of his feet, like slow rhythmic heartbeats.
It was the world-tree itself, alive and dreaming.
Minutes passed before the lift came to a stop, opening into a dim corridor woven from dappled branches. It stretched forward like the throat of some giant creature. At the end was a circular arch of intertwined roots. Beyond it shimmered a translucent film of bluish light.
The attendant stepped aside. "The Elder awaits inside."
Aeryn inhaled once, walked forward, and passed through the Veil.
For a moment, his senses failed.
There was no sound, no smell, no ground beneath his feet—only a soft pressure, like drifting underwater. Then he stumbled forward into reality again, feet settling on a smooth platform of polished white wood. The air tasted sharper, tinged with foreign energy.
He had entered the Inner Chamber of the Elder.
The space was vast, yet quiet enough that Aeryn feared his own breath might echo. Curtains of luminous leaves hung from above like drifting constellations. Ethereal motes floated lazily around him. At the chamber's center, sitting cross-legged atop a softly lit platform, was Elder Caelhar.
But something was different.
The Elder's eyes were open—not clouded with age, but bright with cold clarity. The aura he radiated here was far stronger, almost suffocating. It was as if the chamber peeled away whatever disguises he wore outside.
"You have come," Elder Caelhar said. His voice was softer than expected, yet it held a weight that pressed against Aeryn's bones.
"Yes, Elder."
Caelhar gestured for him to step closer. "What I am about to reveal cannot leave this chamber. Your answers, your purpose, the forces that stir around you… they must remain contained until the time is right."
Aeryn's hands tightened. "I understand."
"Good. Then listen well."
The Elder lifted a hand. Leaves rustled as the chamber dimmed, and a single sphere of light rose above them—a memory-projection woven from magic itself. It pulsed once, spreading silver ripples across the air.
"You are not the first anomaly to appear in this world," Caelhar said.
Aeryn's breath caught.
Anomaly.
The Elder rarely used casual words. This one was chosen with precision.
Caelhar continued, "Aether-warped beings born from unknown origins have appeared throughout the ages. Some were twisted creatures that slipped through the Astral Chasms. Others were humanoid yet wrong in nature. And a few…" His gaze sharpened. "…a very rare few bore traces of structured constructs within their souls. Constructs foreign to this world."
Aeryn felt a jolt run through him. The System. He had never spoken of it aloud. Even when the Elder first mentioned sensing something beneath his soul-thread, Aeryn had kept silent, unwilling to expose it before understanding its nature.
Caelhar watched him, reading his expression. "Yes. I see recognition. You, too, are bound to such a construct."
Aeryn did not deny it. He met the Elder's gaze directly. "What do you know of them?"
The Elder exhaled slowly, as if releasing the weight of centuries. "Little. Too little. But enough to tell you this: every being who carried one either vanished, died, or became something they should not have been."
A chill crawled up Aeryn's spine. "Became something?"
"Ruined. Corrupted. Detached from the laws of our world. The constructs within them… changed them." Caelhar's brow creased with faint frustration. "Our scholars called them Echoes—because they seemed like shadows of something greater, something unreachable."
The light above them flickered.
Aeryn's heartbeat quickened. "Are you saying I am one of those Echoes?"
The Elder closed his eyes briefly. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you are something beyond even that. Your soul-thread is stable. Whatever the construct within you is, it has not begun consuming you. That alone sets you apart."
Consuming.
The word struck hard.
Aeryn thought of his System. It had never harmed him. It had guided him, empowered him. But was there something beneath its surface—a hidden cost he had yet to see?
Before he could speak again, the Elder extended a hand toward the memory-sphere. It flared, expanding until it filled the entire chamber with swirling visions. Aeryn saw glimpses of ancient wars, cities swallowed by living darkness, and figures wrapped in light that flickered with unstable shapes. Their faces were blurred, their bodies shifting like broken reflections.
"These were the Echoes of the past," Caelhar said quietly. "Each one brought calamity in their wake, even if unintentionally."
The visions ended, leaving the chamber silent.
Aeryn asked, "Then why bring me here? Why not cast me out? Or seal me away?"
A faint smile curved the Elder's lips. "Because you are different—and because the world cannot afford ignorance any longer." Caelhar leaned forward. "The Astral Chasms are stirring again. Something in the distant horizons trembles, and I sense a thread connecting you to it. I do not believe you were sent here to bring ruin. I believe you were sent here because you were needed."
Aeryn inhaled deeply. "So you know my presence is tied to the coming dangers?"
"Yes."
"Then tell me what you need from me."
The Elder's eyes softened with something like reluctant respect. "Not obedience. Not blind loyalty. I need your awareness. Your growth. Your caution." He rose slowly to his feet. "There is someone you must meet."
Aeryn stiffened. "Who?"
"A guardian of the Inner Veil. One who studies distortions in magic. She may offer the guidance I cannot."
The air behind Caelhar shimmered. A faint silhouette approached—a slender figure draped in robes woven from strands of midnight blue. She stepped into the light, revealing skin the color of pale dusk and eyes as sharp as moonlit steel.
An elf with uncommon markings—spiraling patterns faintly glowing along her cheekbones.
She bowed slightly. "I am Lirae Sylith, Keeper of the Veil."
Aeryn studied her. Everything about her radiated precision and control. Her presence reminded him of a blade held at rest—still, but capable of cutting through anything.
Lirae spoke, her voice calm. "Your soul-thread carries a foreign pattern. I sensed it even while you ascended the Lift. I am tasked to understand such anomalies."
Aeryn hesitated. "You can sense the… construct inside me?"
"To an extent." Her gaze narrowed. "It is not fully aligned with this world's aether. That alone makes you dangerous—to yourself as much as others."
Caelhar interjected gently, "Lirae will not harm you, Aeryn. She seeks knowledge, not blood."
Lirae gave a curt nod. "Correct. And knowledge requires clarity. If you allow it, I will perform a Veil-Reading."
Aeryn exhaled slowly. "What does that entail?"
"A glimpse into the outer layers of your soul-thread. I will not touch the core. Not without your consent."
Caelhar added, "It will not hurt."
Aeryn considered it. Everything in this world was becoming tangled—whispers of the Astral Chasms, ancient Echoes, foreign constructs. If understanding the System required risk, then he would take it.
He nodded. "Do it."
Lirae approached him. She raised a hand, palm open. Threads of starlike light unfurled from her fingers, forming a gentle spiraling pattern.
"Stand still," she said softly.
Aeryn did.
As her magic touched his chest, he felt a faint pull, like a breath drawn from deep within him. His vision blurred at the edges but did not fade. Warmth spread through him, then cooled into a strange numbness.
Lirae's brows furrowed.
Caelhar stepped forward. "What do you see?"
Lirae did not answer immediately. Instead she circled Aeryn, her eyes tracking invisible currents. Her robes rustled quietly.
"This… is unlike any anomaly I have studied," she murmured. "His soul-thread is intertwined with something that should not exist. But it is not parasitic."
Aeryn steadied his breathing. "Explain."
Lirae stopped in front of him. "Your construct is not consuming you. Nor is it dormant. It is… observing you. Learning from your growth. Adapting."
Aeryn felt a faint vibration pulse across his mind.
The System had reacted. Quietly, subtly.
Lirae's voice turned almost bewildered. "No wonder the Elder sensed potential. This is a construct of structure beyond comprehension. It evolves with you, not through you."
She stepped back, lowering her hand. The light threads faded.
Caelhar asked, "Is he stable?"
"For now." Lirae's gaze sharpened. "But stability is not permanent. His evolution may trigger changes in the construct. Or vice versa."
Aeryn lifted his chin. "What should I do?"
Lirae exchanged a glance with the Elder before saying, "Grow. Strengthen your spirit. If your construct accumulates too much power while you remain weak, it will overwhelm you. But if you develop at equal pace… you might control it."
Caelhar nodded gravely. "That is why I brought you here. You cannot remain uninformed, Aeryn. Your journey affects more than you realize."
Aeryn absorbed their words. The path before him was no longer simple training or self-discovery. It was intertwined with dangers older than the kingdom itself.
"I will not falter," he said quietly but firmly. "Whatever this construct becomes, I will not let it control me."
Lirae gave a faint, rare smile. "Good. Then your next step begins tomorrow. I will oversee your Veil-training personally."
Aeryn bowed his head. "Thank you."
Caelhar lifted his staff lightly. "Remember, Aeryn. The world shifts. The Chasms stir. And somewhere in those depths lies the reason you exist. You cannot run from it."
"I won't."
As the chamber lights dimmed once more, Aeryn felt a subtle pulse within him—soft, rhythmic, almost like acknowledgment.
A System notification.
But this one wasn't the usual silent text.
It felt… alive.
A whisper in the recesses of his mind.
Aeryn realized something he hadn't understood until this moment.
The System wasn't just evolving with him.
It was watching.
And now, it had decided to change.