In zero gravity, adrift among trembling constellations, Ivor works in silence, building the skeletal frame of a space platform.
His fingers glide over holographic interfaces, laying out thin, glowing lines—blueprints of what is meant to become Kairus's ultimate marvel of engineering.
Around him, drones flit and spark. Welders roar. Plasma flares polish the quiet of space.
But for Ivor, it's all distant noise—a mechanical heartbeat in which he is just another cog.
"The world is being built... and I'm falling apart," he thinks.
He barely feels his body anymore. Has long since lost track of purpose.
His thoughts drift far beyond this orbit, wandering strange dimensions where reality bends and cracks like glass under pressure.
Then—collapse.
In an instant, it all vanishes. The light. The noise. The platform.
Only darkness remains.
He is back.
Inside the world of Kairus.
There is no up or down here.
The silence is thick as oil.
Space pulses at the edge of perception, as if time itself has stopped to hold its breath.
Ivor stands alone.
And it's not just solitude he feels—
It's exile.
"How many times have I been here? How many times have I asked the question?"
He speaks softly, almost in a whisper.
But the words scrape out of him like diamond against glass.
"When will those preserved in Therma awaken again?"
Silence.
Then—cold. Sudden, sharp.
Like a knife through bone.
Someone is watching him.
He turns.
From the mist, a figure steps forward.
The boy.
The same boy. His eternal shadow.
He stands motionless, carved out of darkness itself.
The voice echoes not from the boy's mouth but from the air, from within Ivor himself:
"We have arrived."
"Arrived? Who is 'we'? Where is 'here'?!"
Ivor fights the chill spreading in his chest.
Takes a step forward.
"Where have we arrived?"
The answer slices through him like arctic wind:
"This place.
Here, he cannot see you."
His heart slams against his ribs like a hammer on a shield.
"He"?
"Who is he?" Ivor croaks, his breath swallowed by a growing void in his chest.
The boy steps closer.
His eyes are black voids—two stars collapsed into hunger.
"God Kairus."
Everything shifts.
The air thickens.
Invisible threads pull at Ivor, dragging him toward the abyss.
Kairus. The one who sees everything. Always.
But not here.
He swallows hard.
Words fall out of him, unbidden:
"Who are you?"
The boy doesn't answer.
He steps closer. His face remains veiled in shadow, but his voice—
now carries something… tender.
"You'll know.
Later."
"For now... gather them.
The faithful.
Bring them here."
"How?!" Ivor's voice cracks. "I don't even know how I got here myself!"
"It's simple," the boy replies.
"Think of them. Picture them.
And they'll come."
Ivor shuts his eyes—like a diver before the plunge.
A flare bursts in his mind:
Vikar.
The face of an old friend.
Steady. Unbreakable. A brother.
He opens his eyes—
Nothing.
Just fog. Motionless. Indifferent.
"Empty... again."
"It didn't work..."
The boy nods.
Unsurprised.
"Try another."
Ivor hesitates.
Then—Camilla.
Her face cold, precise, carved in perfection.
He opens his eyes.
Still nothing.
"What's wrong with me?!
Why won't they come?
Why am I always alone?!"
"Still no one," he whispers.
And this time, his voice trembles with defeat.
The boy looks at him—pity in his gaze.
But his voice is no longer a whisper.
It tolls like a bell:
"They don't know how to link their minds."
Ivor lowers his head.
His hands shake.
The fear is gone now.
Only despair remains.
"What am I supposed to do?"
The boy steps closer.
No longer a shadow.
Now—he is a command from fate itself.
"Teach them."
Two words.
A sentence.
A mission.
A burden.
Ivor wants to ask.
Wants to grab the boy and demand meaning.
But the boy is already gone.
Dissolving into mist like he was never there.
Only the darkness remains.
And Ivor—alone.
"Teach them...
But how?"
Silence presses in.
It cuts.
It rings in his skull like a siren with no end.
**
Suddenly—return.
Abrupt.
Cold.
He's back among metal, sparks, and stars.
Drones hum. Panels blink.
But he is no longer the same.
The boy's words burn inside his mind like a brand:
Teach them.
Ivor clenches his fists.
He doesn't know what it means.
He doesn't know where to start.
But he knows one thing—
There is no way back.